The Principle Axiom
by onlyonepage
Summary: Following the events of the Reichenbach Fall those left behind are moving on with their lives or so they thought. Harriet Thornton, Mrs Hudson's former house sitter, gets a shock when a certain consultant detective reveals himself and expects her to down tools and return to London where he expects life at Baker Street to be just as it was.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright folks, it's sequel time. This is the follow-up story to 'The Search of Greater Value'**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.**

**The Principal Axiom**

'_**The principal axiom in their theory was: Everything can be proved, and everything can be disproved; and in the process, one must profit as much from the folly of others, and from his own superiority, as he can'**_

**Moses Mendelssohn**

**Chapter 1**

'_**Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment'**_

**Buddha**

_**Present Day**_

"Right, lads, no one is leaving this room until all those bits of paper under your chairs have been picked up!" Harriet's voice carried across the noisy classroom to the back where a group of year nine boys had been messing about for the duration of the lesson putting Harriet's patience to the test in the process. It was the last lesson on a Friday afternoon and both Harriet and the year nine class had seen enough of school for one week. "You have until I count down from five otherwise you can join me at lunch time on Monday," that spurred them into action, "I'm sure I can find you something to do, maybe some pencil sharpening?"

Finally the bell rang. Harriet dismissed the class and stood back as thirty year nines charged for the door at the back of the classroom, within seconds she was left with peace and quiet. She sat back on the red swizzle chair behind her desk and scrubbed her hands over her face.

"Thank god for Fridays," Harriet looked up sharply. Libby, the schools other history teacher strode into the room and perched on one of the desks, "What happened in here?" Libby asked.

Harriet smiled, "Year nine, the little buggers can't follow instructions." The pair shared a laugh over the carnage left over from Hurricane 9RH, the worst form in the year.

"Drinks?" the humanities department usually went to the pub on the way home on a Friday. At that moment nothing was more appealing than a cold glass of wine to the twenty eight year old teacher as she shut down her battered school issue laptop and picked up her bag. The lights were turned off and the door shut as she left the classroom.

-x-

John Watson stepped out of Heathrow's terminal three and let the full force of the British weather hit him, "forgot how bloody cold it is," he zipped his jacket up to his chin.

A soft laugh followed his comment, "You moaned about the cold air conditioning on the plane, how is this any different?" the woman next to him teased as she refrained from pointing out that it was a fairly warm day for late April.

"It just is," John laughed along with her.

The woman watched with an amused smile as he attempted to hail a cab from the pickup point. "Having trouble there?" she spoke with mirth as she watched the ex-army doctors two failed attempts at finding a cab.

John pursed his lips in irritation, getting a taxi had never been his forte. "Go on then if you think you can do a better job," he challenged.

"Oh I can," she was so sure of herself as she pecked him on the cheek and stuck out her arm getting a cab on her first try. John had known someone else with the ability to get a cab whenever they wanted.

John thought returning to London would be hard but so far it had been a pleasant return. The woman sat next to him in the back of the cab, the woman he was in love with, had made it so easy for him. His apprehension upon his impending return to Britain from Uganda had been quashed by the easy-going nature of Mary Morstan and for the first time in weeks he was glad to be returning home.

-x-

The Pig and Whistle was its usual busy self as the humanities department found themselves a seat in the window of the West Country village pub. Harriet sipped at her large pinot grigio as conversation turned to the upcoming school holiday. Sue, an RE teacher and mother of three, was going to London for a few days to take the children sight-seeing. Harriet was apathetic towards holiday plans as soon as London was mentioned. Her thoughts were instantly on Baker Street somewhere that they hadn't been as of late. She was no longer seeing the old black oak beams of the country pub with its floral paper, panoramic photographs and guest ale advertisements instead she saw a green leather chair, a periodic table on a bedroom wall and a microscope. "Harriet?" Libby's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh yeah sounds great," Harriet's mind went into auto response mode. All eyes were on Harriet at her blatant show of disinterest. "Sorry," she apologised, "I'm just tired. It's been a long week." That excuse was better than the truth.

Phil, the only geography teacher in the school, laughed heartily and added in his money's worth in a thick Cornish accent, "Year eleven reports keeping you busy? Told Alan I'd get round to 'em dreckley." Harriet mumbled a reply but it went unheard as Phil's interest was diverted to Libby, "Did you have Tom Trelorn back for detention? He is a real heller." Shortly after Harriet made her excuses and left for home no longer in the spirit to enjoy the company.

For the past two and a half years Harriet had made a stone cottage in the Cornish village of Devoran her home. Her mother protested at such a rash decision six months after Sherlock's death. "Well tough, I already put a deposit down," Harriet had argued with her mother over the move. She'd used the money that Mycroft refused to take back to pay the deposit. "I want a fresh start away from everything and besides I can't live with my mother forever," Harriet added to smile to show her mother that she really was okay with the decision.

"But does it have to be so far away?" Mary Thornton, who was still using her witness protection surname of Dawson, worried for her daughter knowing that Harriet was taking great steps to ensure the world believed that she was okay. Moving so far away was a way of proving it. Harriet wanted to be far away, away from anything that might connect her with Sherlock Holmes she even went as far as to change her surname to the one her mother had taken on. She was now Harriet Dawson.

Harriet had to fight very hard not to dwell on the past or even to think of the future. Instead she focussed on the present taking each day as it arrived. Her minds recent wonderings to the past put Harriet in a foul mood as she drove home along the narrow country lanes enclosed on both sides by high stone walls and hedgerows. "Oh for crying out loud!" Harriet exclaimed to herself as she bought the car to a stop. The road was blocked by cows. A farmer was seeing them across the lane from one field to another. She tapped her hand on the steering wheel in irritation. All she wanted was to go home and have a bath, another glass of wine and read her book and not sit and look at cows. Oh how she hated the bloody countryside.

As she waited for the road to clear boredom took over and her mind wandered onto dangerous territory again. It wasn't healthy. It never was. No matter how hard Harriet tried she would always find herself thinking of the perplexing consultant detective. Sometimes they were fond memories of laughs shared with John at Sherlock's expense but other times they were the touch of a hand or ghost of his lips on hers. Those were the hardest memories to deal with.

Seeing Mrs Hudson at a family get together for an uncle's fiftieth hadn't helped Harriet's heart to heal in the year that followed Sherlock's death. The heart and soul of Baker Street had wanted to talk of two things and two things only: Sherlock and John. Harriet could deal with the John conversation having recently received an email from John from his placement in Uganda for the Doctors for Africa charity. The Sherlock conversation, on the other hand, left Harriet crying herself to sleep as she lay in bed long after the party ended.

Harriet thought of Baker Street less often as one year turned into two and then three. Her mother had been right when she said time would help but it didn't fix everything. The loss of Sherlock was always with her but that didn't mean she couldn't be happy even if it was difficult from time to time. A child with the surname Holmes on a register would allow the consultant detective to barge his way into Harriet's thoughts shattering her happiness for a few days. She hated the insufferable arse for it.

-x-

John flicked on the television in the hotel room he and Mary were sharing before picking up the keys to their new flat in the morning. "The victim has been names as a Mr Ronald Adair who had recently returned from a business trip in Australia. He was found shot dead at his home in Park Lane," John perched on the edge of the hotel bed as he took in the story. If he was still leaving at Baker Street with the enigmatic consulting detective he was certain it would have been a case but he wasn't there instead he was to be a GP dishing out antibiotics for sniffles. "Everything okay?" Mary had to ask twice as she watched him from the bathroom doorway.

"Everything is fine," he replied a little too quickly. Mary knew it wasn't but wasn't going to push the matter. John had confided in her the events surrounding his best friend's death and then to return to London after so long she thought he was doing remarkably well. "So dinner?" he switched the television off and picked up his jacket keen to move on from what his fiancée had just witnessed.

"Dinner," Mary agreed.

-x-

Sherlock Holmes sat in a single-roomed bedsit in a small town in Southern France. The small single-paned window was open allowing a warm gentle breeze to clear the stench of cigarettes. Sherlock was sat at the small table in the room with his laptop. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up the heat and a cup of coffee was going cold next to the laptop. He was reading, with great interest, a story on _The Guardian_ website surrounding the murder of Ronald Adair a name he had become familiar with in his relentless pursuit of Moriarty's network. Within minutes of finishing the news article Sherlock booked a plane ticket, shut down the laptop and packed his few belongings into a rucksack ready to return to London.

* * *

**Would love to hear what everyone thinks of the beginning. Already working on the second chapter which should be up either wednesday or thursday. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

'_**There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered'**__**  
**_**Nelson Mandela**

_**Two months after the fall**_

Mrs Hudson sat with John in the back of a black cab heading for Sherlock's grave. The Baker Street landlady sat clutching a small bouquet of flowers to place on the grave of her beloved tenant. It was at the recommendation of John's therapist and her own opinion that they were now visiting the consultant detective's grave.

The morning had been spent clearing John's things into storage, "Mycroft is paying the rent," Mrs Hudson informed John as a way of keeping away the silence as they rode in the back of a black cab.

"I can't stay," John answered as it was he had struggled to be in 221B to sort all his things out for storage. Mrs Hudson reached over gave his hand a squeeze offering some comfort and understanding towards what he must be feeling.

Mrs Hudson and John walked to Sherlock's grave; it was set a small distance away from the others. John had noted at the time that it was a very fitting place for such a man as the enigmatic consultant detective. "There's all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes; I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school. Would you?" Mrs Hudson asked of John hoping he could fit it in before he left.

"I can't go back to the flat, again, not at the moment," John paused for a moment unable to tear his eyes away from the grave, "I'm angry." Anger had consumed John for the last two months. He was angry at his friend for doing what he did. He was angry at him for leaving him alone, he was angry at him on Harriet's behalf and he was angry at him for Moriarty. If Sherlock wasn't so bloody brilliant there would be no Moriarty to worry about but, if Sherlock wasn't so bloody brilliant than there would be none of it.

"That's okay John, there's nothing unusual in that, that's the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the noise; firing guns at half-past one in the morning," Mrs Hudson began to rant.

"Yeah," John acknowledged with a slight nod having witnessed both things happen on numerous occasions.

Mrs Hudson paid no notice to John's short reply, "Bloody specimens in my fridge, imagine, keeping bodies where there's food. And the fighting drove me up the wall with all his carryings on."

"Listen, I'm not actually that angry, okay?" John could finally get a word in edgeways.

Mrs Hudson nodded her head as she recalled why they were originally there, "Okay I'll leave you alone to errrm you know…" His now former landlady left with tears falling thick and fast onto her weathered cheeks.

Neither John nor Mrs Hudson had been aware that they were being watched from the shadows of the trees. Sherlock Holmes stood out of their direct sight complete with coat and scarf. He watched as Mrs Hudson set the flowers down on the empty grave. He could just about make out what was being said. Mrs Hudson was ranting about him. Sherlock found himself feeling a foreign feeling, _sentiment_, rising in his chest. He buried it deep alongside the comparison his mind was making between Mrs Hudson and Harriet. They were both capable of ranting on a spectacular level. It was no use for Sherlock to be dwelling on Baker Street life for in a few hours he would be on route to Switzerland where he had finally picked up a lead on Moriarty's network. Sherlock watched Mrs Hudson walk away leaving John behind.

John took a deep breath letting it out through his nose as he steadied his emotion. He cast a glance back to check that Mrs Hudson was far enough away not wanting an audience for what he was going to say, "Errrm, hmmm, you, you told me once," John cleared his throat that become constricted with sadness, "that you weren't a hero. Errm there were times I didn't even think that you were human but let me tell you that you were the best man the most human, human being that I will ever know and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie and so there." John took another deep breath before stepping closer to the headstone. He reached out with his right arm and touched the headstone as if bringing himself closer to the deceased man, "I was so alone and I owe you so much," John turned walked away from the grave but he wasn't done. Not yet, he turned back, "Please there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be. Dead," his last three words started off confidently as if he was chastising the detective as he had done on many occasion but as he reached the last word his voice gave out. "Would you do that just for me," John wanted to cry but enough tears had been shed. "stop it. Stop this," John sighed heavily with clenched fists. A few tears escaped before John could stop them. He finished his goodbye with actions, not words. John straightened his posture and with a swift military nod of his head he was gone.

Sherlock watched John walk away not knowing when or even if he would see his blogger again.

-x-

Harriet's phone rang, "are you going to get that?" her mother prompted.

"No," Harriet replied as she concentrated on a repeat of come dine with me. She knew exactly who was calling her. Mrs Holmes. Harriet had nothing to say to the woman. Since the funeral she had been phoning to invite Harriet over for afternoon tea or stay for a weekend at her home in the country. It was out of pity or so Harriet thought. In all honesty Mrs Holmes just wanted to look after the woman that had been able to interest her son and with him gone Harriet was one of the few links she had left to her youngest son.

The phone rang again. Her mother sighed in frustration and picked the complicated phone up not knowing how to answer it. "It says John," she held the phone at arm's length as if it would explode. Harriet took the phone and answered.

"I'm at the airport," Harriet could just about make out what John was saying from the background noise. Immediately she felt guilty for ignoring the call the first time, "my flight leaves soon and I just wanted to…"

"Say goodbye," Harriet finished for him with a sad smile.

"Yeah," John answered, "listen Harriet, I'm sorry. For everything."

"No, okay, just no. It's alright John. I don't blame and you shouldn't blame yourself. You go and have a fantastic time keep in touch. I want to hear about everything and Mary will look after you," Harriet wiped away a tear. Now John was leaving. He was the only other person to really understand just who Sherlock Holmes was.

_**Present Day**_

"Mycroft," Sherlock inclined his head in recognition of his brother, a somewhat indifferent greeting after three years.

"Long time no see, brother dear," Mycroft replied with an equally indifferent welcome. Pleasantries weren't important as Mycroft entered the hotel room setting his umbrella to rest against the bed. An anonymous text had alerted the elder Holmes of his brother's return. "Back for good?"

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise as his brother sat himself down at the table in the upmarket hotel room, "I have a lead on Moran. Adair." Sherlock remained standing.

"Ah, yes," Mycroft had read of the murder in the newspaper. Neither brother said anything else for a few minutes as they stared at each other taking in every detail of the last three years.

"I will need you to acquire the items on that list," Sherlock broke the silence and slid the list written on a piece of complimentary hotel paper across the table to Mycroft.

Mycroft spared a glance at the list written in Sherlock's smooth handwriting, "it will be with you tonight and Sherlock," Mycroft got to his feet and took up his umbrella, "I trust you will remember that caring is not advantage this time."

Sherlock shot him a glare and opened the door for his brother to leave, "You have until seven."

-x-

Sherlock stood outside a sleek black door with the letters 221 written in gold shining in the spring sunshine. A feeling of warmth momentarily consumed the consultant detective. Home. Mycroft had assured him he would continue to pay the rent on the upstairs flat known as 221B. John and Mrs Hudson would be inside. Quelling the excitement that was akin to a really good case Sherlock pressed his finger to the doorbell allowing it to ring once; he heard the clear shrill of the bell echo down the hallway. He waited as he heard movement inside, a door opened and feet sounded on the floor. They were slow small steps. Mrs Hudson's hip must have gotten worse.

Mrs Hudson opened the door and gasped in surprise. She couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. The familiar smell of Baker Street barraged into Sherlock. There was a slight quirk of his lips as he stepped past Mrs Hudson. "Sherlock! I knew it, I knew you couldn't be dead," his landlady come house keeper reached her arms up and hugged him tight before she clipped him around the ear, "you deserve much more than a clip round the ear." Sherlock allowed his landlady to hug him once more, "Oh, Harriet and John must be over the moon at your return."

"I'm going to see John shortly," Sherlock answered carefully having already established that John was no longer presiding at Baker Street.

"And Harriet?" Sherlock silently avoided Mrs Hudson's gaze, "Sherlock Holmes!" Mrs Hudson reprimanded, "That girl has been to hell and back because of you. She needs to know that you are alive. She needs to know from you and not from the papers when they get wind of it."

"She is safer where she is for now. I need to beg a favour of you," Sherlock made sure he sounded sincere as he went about his explanation keen to put all matters of conversation relating to Harriet behind him. The first part of Sherlock's plan to clear his name and finally put a stop to Moriarty's network was now complete.

* * *

**Bit later than planned, ooops. A big thank you to everyone who has alerted/favourited/reviewed =]**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

'_**A scientific man ought to have no wishes, no affections, - a mere heart of stone'**_**  
****Charles Darwin**

_**Two months after the fall**_

John hung up the phone and joined the queue in the departure lounge clutching his boarding pass tightly. This was it. He was leaving everything behind. The queue moved swiftly until it was John's turn to hand over his pass. "Oh, Sir, it looks like you've been upgraded to first class," the immaculately groomed young lady looked down at her computer and printed a new pass for John. It was Mycroft. It had to be.

"Listen, that's not right. I'm economy. Cattle class with the peasants," John protested. In the line behind him John could hear the distinct wail of a child. If he turned down the first class ticket he would have to put up with the crying child for the next seven hours. Without any further hesitation John accepted the inevitable and decided that if it was coming out of Mycroft's pocket then more fool him.

John's flight wasn't so bad once he sat down in his seat, it really was much better than cattle class. Although really it was the aeroplane plane food that was in some way edible which really helped to ease his mind.

Upon arriving John spotted his name held by a woman in arrivals with chestnut brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore khaki coloured shorts and a red vest top. Unlike John, who was still wearing one of his knitted jumpers to keep the cold away on the plane, she was dressed for the heat. The sign she held had been scrawled with an almost empty marker pen onto a piece of what looked like torn cardboard box. "Hi, I'm John," John extended his free hand not thinking about home or Sherlock for the first time in days.

"Mary," the woman with the card smiled and shook his hand.

"Harriet's friend," John remembered.

"Yep. Now come one I only get thirty minutes of free parking in the car park. How do you feel about running?" she checked her watch, five minutes until they'd fine her. Plenty of time.

The short run left John feeling refreshed even after his flight. He completely forgot about the limp with the distraction of Mary. "God I needed that," John sat back in the car seat and caught his breath.

"Better get used to it," Mary replied.

_**Present Day**_

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his new attire; a pair of nylon tracksuit bottoms and a fusty green parka with half the fur missing around the hood. He listened to the sound of the morning rush as he readied his disguise in the Leake Street tunnel beneath Waterloo Station. He placed his beloved coat, scarf and crisp clean suit into a bin liner and placed it with others on his way out of the tunnel to be picked up by the homeless network. Sherlock completed his disguise by slipping a red vest over the coat, pulling up his hood and picking up a messenger bag loaded with big issue magazines.

The consultant detective took one last long drag of his cigarette before letting it fall from his half gloved hands to the floor. He stamped on it with a battered trainer. Sherlock took off in the direction of the doctor's surgery on foot. John now worked for a GP's surgery according to Mycroft's snoop into his personal details. Sherlock would have liked his plan to progress quicker but after first making sure that he was seen entering Baker Street by Moriarty's network he could now safely reveal himself to John without the last bit of Moriarty's web finding out.

-x-

John was late. "If you don't leave now you'll be late," Mary chastised him as he kissed her soundly for the umpteenth time. The ex-army doctor come GP grumbled and with one last kiss he was out the door of the hotel room. Yesterday they had picked up the keys to their new flat and today would be John's first day at work.

The underground was heaving as John fought his way through the crowds towards the barriers. Things didn't get any easier as he stood on the congested platform waiting to being crammed into a carriage like a sardine in a tin. John was seriously starting to regret agreeing to start work so soon. He could have taken a few more days to help Mary unpack even if he put things in all the wrong places. A warm rush of air signalled the impending arrival of the train, with a resigned sigh John accepted his fate.

Sherlock Holmes stood outside the South Kensington tube station watching as Britain's workforce went about its morning rush. He was waiting for the one person he would be able to spot a mile off, someone who had been his only friend. Sherlock located him immediately. John Watson. Ex-army doctor and blogger. For a moment Sherlock was momentarily lost for actions and only just managed to stop himself from calling out to his friend. To give the game away now would be a waste of three years so Sherlock watched and waited. He deduced his friend before making any further moves. Slight crease of his brow, irritation, more than likely due to an unpleasant journey. Clean shaven, new shows. Keen to make a good impression. Sherlock abandoned his deduction when a woman with two young children stepped in his line of sight.

Not wanting to lose sight of his friend Sherlock slipped a few magazines from his bag and strode purposefully with long strides to catch up with John. John obliviously continued on his commute to work when Sherlock stepped into his path. The pair collided with enough force to scatter the magazines from Sherlock's hand.

"Sorry mate," hearing the familiar voice of his blogger knocked Sherlock for six. It was an apology tinged with irritation. To John the stranger had been another obstacle on his way to work. John bent down to retrieve the copies of the big issue. The sleeves of his jacket rose revealing a darker tan line than before. Immediately Sherlock's mind went into over drive.

"'S alright," Sherlock replied with a cockney twang.

"I'll err take one of those," John fished in his pockets for some change having given the magazines back to man in front of him.

-x-

_**Two months after the fall**_

Harriet hung up the phone and let her mind take her back to John's visit, the visit that would prompt his trip to Africa. Harriet had initially been unsure of John's visit. Her mother thought she needed it and a part of Harriet agreed with her. John shared her belief in who Sherlock Holmes really was no matter what the media vultures were saying. Harriet desperately needed the comfort of someone who had confidence in the consultant detective. Without the comfort she was left with no one except her mother who harboured a small amount of doubt over the truth. Harriet couldn't blame her for it.

John's train arrived in the station. Harriet arrived three minutes before it was due giving her time to hot foot it to the platform to wait for him. Mrs Thornton was waiting in the car outside complaining that it was too cold to stand on a platform. Christmas and New Year had been and gone, the holiday period had been a sombre one for all the decorations had been stripped from the station leaving it a bare empty shell somewhat mirroring the way Harriet felt inside.

Harriet huddled into her coat hiding from the elements on the platform. The train shuddered to a halt and the smell of hot oil wafted down the platform in the January breeze. A handful of passengers disembarked. Harriet spotted John as soon as he stepped from the train. He looked older and exhausted. Harriet hugged him tight, "Come on my mums waiting in the car."

It took four days before Sherlock became the topic of conversation; John and Harriet were out for a walk, "I want to shout at people I see in the street for believing the lie. He wasn't a fake. My mum won't go to the shops with me anymore after I yelled at the bloke in the newspaper shop." Harriet's laugh was a hollow one.

"It's anger," John voiced quietly as they traversed the edges of a copse of woodland both under the impression that fresh air would do them good.

"Anger for leaving us," Harriet added, "for expecting us to just carry on and completely ignore the chasm he left behind."

"Anger at Moriarty," John clenched his fists next to his sides, "for winning. Mycroft says he's dead but there was no body, just blood."

Harriet was silent for a moment. The only sound filling the air was the chatter of birds high up in the trees. "I saw a body. It was his John, I'm sure of it," Harriet had only spoken of events once and that was to the police who didn't believe a word she'd said because evidence suggested otherwise. "When I got up there Sherlock stepped down and just for a second I was stupid and naïve enough to think that was the end of it. I was so sure it had been one of his elaborate tricks," Harriet found it cathartic to finally speak freely. "I tried to convince him to run away with me because none of it mattered. Oh god, I even told him I loved him in so many words. He deduced it," Harriet looked up at the bare trees before she looked at John again, "and you know what that insufferable arse said? He found himself 'not opposed to the ridiculous notion' he felt the same John. He felt something!"

"Harriet," John didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to make everything better.

Harriet and John traced their steps through the woods on a daily basis for a week come rain or shine. They could talk about Sherlock freely and try to make plans for the future. Harriet had received an email from an old friend that she did her teacher training with by the name of Mary Morstan. "She's teaching in a village in Africa. You could go John," and that was exactly what John had done. Harriet smiled down at her phone. Glad that John was doing something positive.

_**Present Day**_

John's first morning had been hectic to say the least he barely had time to skim through the newspaper whilst necking a lukewarm cup of tea on his break. Hay fever season was approaching so John spent the morning dishing out antihistamines to the paranoid. It was all so dull and mundane. Already he was missing the adventure of Uganda. Shoving those thoughts away John called in his next patient. He poked his head around the door but didn't pay the person any notice so long as he heard footsteps confirming they were there then that was more than enough for him. John didn't get a good look at the man until the door clicked shut.

"Take a seat," John gestured with his hands as he looked at the information he had on the patient. The person didn't move. John looked up, "Oh, it's you!" John was more than surprised to see the big issue seller from the tube station. The man, despite the temperature inside, wore his hood up and his coat pulled tight around him.

"Caught you by surprise, dint I?" the man said with a croaked voice.

John laughed slightly, "Bit of a coincidence."

The man said nothing for a moment then reached up to pull down his hood and spoke in a voice that was all too familiar John, "I hardly think this is a coincidence, John."

John couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Stood before him was a very much alive Sherlock Holmes smiling at him from across the desk. John sprung to his feet, his swivel chair pushing back against the wall behind him, he had to rest his hands on the desk as his head swam. "John," Sherlock spoke his name again, "I can assure you it is me and I am very much alive. You aren't dreaming. I had to deceive you and for that I'm sorry."

John was speechless. He let out a shaky breath, looked down at the top of his desk and then back up at a not so dead Sherlock, "Nope, sorry," John shook his head. Sherlock was dead; he went to his funeral for crying out loud.

"I faked my death," Sherlock stated. There was a hint of smugness to his voice that had John seeing red. He stepped around his desk. Sherlock stepped back slightly but he wasn't quick enough. John's fist planted itself firmly against his friends jaw.

The consultant detective staggered with the force but kept his balance. Sherlock reached up to rub his jaw, "I deserved that."

John grinned like a child at Christmas, "You deserve more than that, you git." Sherlock found himself smiling wide in return to John's grin. It really was good to see his only friend again. "Come here," John grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him taking note of how thin Sherlock was beneath the parka coat.

"John?" John ignored Sherlock, "John? John! You can stop now."

John stepped away looking slightly sheepish but still very happy to see his friend alive, "Right, sorry. Bloody hell Sherlock you're just…"

"Alive," Sherlock finished for John.

"Yeah, but how?" John leant back against his desk.

Sherlock sat on one of the chairs meant for patients and put his feet up on John's desk. He reached into his pocket. "Sherlock!" John's sharp tone made him look up, "You can't smoke in here and you shouldn't be doing it anyway." His eyes flicked dangerously to John as his thumb was posed on the lighter. Sherlock put the lighter away and pocketed the cigarette grumbling about it being 'one of those laws'. "I'll get some nicotine patches," John made a note to himself. Sherlock made a noise in disgust making John smile. He looked at his friend again as if looking away would make him vanish.

"I have a case and will be in need of some assistance," Sherlock's piercing blue eyes met John's. Poor John never stood a chance.

"I have to work."

"Errrgh work. Work is boring. Quit," Sherlock leapt to his feet. John put up a feeble argument and couldn't quite fathom how a few minutes later he was following Sherlock from his office.

Once outside the surgery Sherlock hailed a taxi with all his former grace. John climbed in after Sherlock, "Can't say I've ever seen you in trainers," he teased.

-x-

"So how did you do it?" John asked once they were in the hotel room Sherlock had been using. The consultant detective went immediately to rummage through his bag. He threw something at John who looked down at the item in his hand with a furrowed brow. A black rubber ball. "This?" Johns asked incredulously.

"Think John, think, where have you seen that before," Sherlock prompted.

John returned his attention to the ball. He could see the day as clear as day. "Bart's. You had it in the lab when you were having your Great Escape moment." John had a suspicion at the time that Sherlock didn't know he was imitating Hilts in the cell with his baseball infact, John doubted very much whether Sherlock had even seen the Great Escape.

"It stopped my pulse. Molly helped. The blood wasn't mine. The bin lorry broke my fall. That cyclist that hit you was intended to hit you to give me time. Molly faked the death certificate and Mycroft dealt with the funeral," Sherlock finished.

"Mycroft helped you but he-"

"Yes John, he assures me he fully atones for his sins. He played his part most admirably even sacrificing his diet to indulge in mother's cakes." Sherlock took on a sombre tone following his mocking off his brother, "Moriarty had snipers. Four of them trained on you, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Ha- Miss Thornton."

John's eyes widened, "Does she know you're alive?" John caught the brief flash of something on Sherlock's face before it was replaced with his usual stoic mask. "She doesn't, does she? She will kill you."

"Oh no," Sherlock waved him off, "Mrs Hudson knows I'm alive. I went to her first."

"I was talking about Harriet, Sherlock," John took note of his friend's avoidance.

Sherlock turned back to his bag and took out a clean set of clothes. He walked into the bathroom with John following hot on his heels. "You are going to tell her you're alive, aren't you? She was a mess and if she- ummpf," the bathroom door slammed in John's face, "If she finds out from someone else or even the papers she won't forgive you."

"I don't care for Miss Thornton," Sherlock stepped from the bathroom a moment later looking exactly like his old self if you chose to ignore the slightly longer hair and weight loss.

"But you did," John tried to appeal to him, "and you still do."

Sherlock glared daggers at the ex-army doctor, "Miss Thornton is no longer of any importance."

"So what? Are you just going to pretend like she never existed, not even you could be that much of a bastard," John rubbed his temples in exasperation. He should really be tackling one issue at a time. The Sherlock stood in front of him now was like looking at Sherlock back when John first moved into Baker Street.

* * *

**Thank you everybody for alerting and special thanks to Gwilwillith and Regin for reviewing the last chapter. I'm going to try and get another chapter finished before Christmas Day but I'm not promising anything. **

**Have a lovely Christmas!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

'_**A good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination'**__**  
**_**Nelson Mandela**

_**Present Day**_

John's phone was ringing from his back pocket as they were leaving. He pulled it out and looked at the caller id feeling extremely guilty as _Mary_ flashed on the screen. "Shit," John cursed. Sherlock paused at the door and looked back at John with interest. "Hi," John answered hastily. Sherlock couldn't hear the conversation on the other end of the line. "Yes very busy…All unpacked then?...Good, yeah…I'm going to be late back, I bumped into an old friend. Do you mind if I catch up with him tonight?...Thanks, you're a star…I will, love you too." John looked up at Sherlock waiting expectantly.

"Your girlfriend," the consultant detective stated. John couldn't be sure but he thought he heard disappointment in Sherlock's tone.

"Fiancée actually," John pocketed his phone, "Mary. I met her in Africa. She's a friend of Harriet's." Sherlock grunted something unintelligible and opened the door of the hotel.

-x-

"I thought we were going to Baker Street?" John asked when the taxi they were riding in was called to a halt by Sherlock on the corner of Cavendish Square. John and Sherlock stepped out and began to weave their way through narrow back alleys and dark damp back streets towards Baker Street. Sherlock glanced back regularly to check they weren't followed. John surveyed for himself their surroundings. He could honestly say that he had no clue where he was. They came to a stop part way down the end of a back alley behind a row of houses not dissimilar to those of Baker Street.

"Sherlock!" John whispered harshly to bring his friend to a stop as he prepared to leap over a tall wooden fence, "You can't just walk through people's gardens."

"We'll be running," Sherlock sprung over the fence and grumbling under his breath John followed. He saw the familiar flick of Sherlock's coat as he disappeared over the garden fence on the other side. The ex-army doctor vaulted over the next fence and landed with a heavy thud in a bed of weeds. He couldn't see Sherlock anywhere but heard the sound a key turning in a lock. Sherlock was letting himself into the house. "Relax, John, this house has been empty for some time."

John hadn't realised he was so tense, "Right, because that totally justifies breaking and entering."

Sherlock smirked at the sarcasm. "Enjoy that?" he asked in good humour once they were inside with the door shut behind them.

John chuckled, "Oh god yes."

There were no lights on inside the house and Sherlock made no indication he wanted light's on. John jumped out of his skin when he felt an ice cold hand clasp around his wrist gently tugging him along. "People will talk," John looked down at Sherlock's hand on his own still not believing that Sherlock was alive. "Is this really necessary?"

"People always talk," Sherlock answered him and continuing to grip his wrist he pulled John along a hall into an empty room on the front the house. "We are in Camden House, due to be renovated before the recession and lucky for us it's still conveniently empty."

-x-

"So run this by me again," John looked away from the shadow of a figure in the window of 221B Baker Street as he shuffled on his feet, "That is a mannequin."

"Yes John," Sherlock replied with the hint of annoyance at John's inability to stand still.

"And that is you and you have Mrs Hudson, _Mrs Hudson _who is getting on in years, moving it every now and then," John shook his head at his friends plan.

"I'm fully aware of my plan, there's no need for you to repeat it to me," Sherlock rolled his eyes at his friends slow uptake.

"Right okay," John straightened himself in his military fashion and nodded his head, "I'm still not getting it." Up until now John had only picked up snippets of Sherlock's great plan.

Sherlock, with excitement bubbling away inside, answered John, "Moran. Sebastian Moran. Moriarty's number two. He was one of the snipers when I jumped. It's him we're going to catch."

John tested the name, "Sebastian Moran." It was unfamiliar to him.

"You might know him, he was a colonel," Sherlock spoke without looking away from the window.

John rubbed his temples, "Believe it or not Sherlock but I don't actually know everyone in the ummmpf-." Sherlock clamped his hand over John's mouth and pushed him up against the wall as a scratching click echoed down the hallway. John's eyes widened. Someone was picking the lock. Sherlock held the index finger on his free hand up to his own lips. John took the hint and nodded his head. Sherlock slowly removed his hand and pressed his own body back against the wall. There was someone else in the house. The person stepped cautiously down the hall with the intention of being quiet. Quietly Sherlock and John pressed themselves further back against the wall out of sight of the doorway into the room.

In the dark front room the shadow of a man carrying a case passed within three feet of the consultant detective and his loyal army doctor completely oblivious to their presence. The man wasn't expecting there to be anyone in the house. With practised ease the window was opened and he bent down to open the case. The only sound in the room was the putting together of the contents of the box. A sniper rifle.

The man, who John now knew to be Sebastian Moran, perched the sniper on the windowsill. Neither John nor Sherlock moved. The target, the mannequin of Sherlock, was lined up. A red dot that John hadn't seen since the day at the poolside could be seen across the street in the window of Baker Street. With the steady breath of a marksman the trigger was pulled. The sound of the gun sliced through the room.

Sherlock sprang into action using the sound to cover his own steps. He leapt onto Moran forcing him to the ground in surprise. John stood motionless for a second until he noticed what Sherlock had done. Moran had flipped Sherlock over onto his back closing his hands tightly around his throat. The strangled cry of 'John' bought John to his senses. He pulled a gun, given to him by Sherlock, from its position tucked into the back of his trousers and clocked Moran over the head. He fell onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Thanks," Sherlock croaked. He rubbed his throat and took a deep breath.

"That wasn't part of the plan, was it?" John revelled in his evenings activities.

Sherlock took a deep breath to fill his temporarily starved lungs, "I thought he would use the street." John laughed and Sherlock chuckled quietly equally glad to have his friends company once again. A loud bang followed by running footsteps silenced the pair's laughter, "Ah Lestrade," Sherlock stood up and brushed off the dust.

"I'm glad to see you again mate," Lestrade clapped a hand on his shoulder.

By the time the scene was contained Moran had regained consciousness and was leaning against the wall. Moran was fixing Sherlock with a viscous glare making no secret of his distaste for the consultant detective. "I had some misgivings over Jim's obsession with you but I can see it. You have been a worthy opponent Holmes."

"This, gentlemen, is Sebastian Moran. The last remaining piece of Moriarty's web. I trust you can take care of the gun? You did at least manage to solve the Molesly Mystery without any help,

"Err yeah," Lestrade was almost certain that had been a compliment from the normally stoic Sherlock. He stepped towards Moran, "Sebastian Moran I am arresting you for the attempted to murder of Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh no," Sherlock cut in with a shake in his head, "I'm not to play any part in this. This is your remarkable arrest. Congrats." Lestrade's face gave away his confusion, "Moran murdered Adair. You have your man Lestrade." Lestrade watched as Sherlock summoned John.

Lestrade nodded to indicate the bruise on Sherlock's jaw as they walked past the Detective Inspector on their way out, "You do that?" he asked John.

"Yeah," John rubbed his knuckles as they throbbed in memory and followed Sherlock from the room, off out the broken front door, across the road and in to Baker street..

-x-

"Another broken window, Mrs Hudson will put up our rent again," Sherlock commented as he took his coat off and hung it up in its usual place. John didn't have the heart to break it to his friend at that moment that he would not be moving back in to Baker Street.

"Oh boys I am glad to see you together. It just hasn't been the same," Mrs Hudson fussed on as she made tea and a plate of sandwiches, "and that window is coming out of your rent." Sherlock swept Mrs Hudson into an uncharacteristic hug, "Oh Sherlock you silly boy."

"Not bad," John pulled the mannequin from its standing position to take a look at the shot. Sherlock hummed in response as he sat in his chair.

For a while it was just like old times as John sat in his chair Sherlock in his as they discussed the night's adventure. "John he was the second most dangerous man in London. A sterling and stain free career in the army. Two tours of Afghanistan. There are some trees that grow to a certain height and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity." Sherlock placed his hands together and under his chin as he recollected everything to John, "Upon his return to London he grew that unsightly eccentricity when he was sought out by Moriarty. It was from Moriarty he had his income, you know what an army pension is like, he was the only that the really difficult and dangerous jobs were trusted to. Everything was concealed so well that as I began to deconstruct Moriarty's web Moran became the only one I couldn't touch until now." Sherlock leaned forward and took a sip of cooling tea, "I was in France when I read about Adair's murder. As long as Moran was there I could not return. The simple answer would be to kill him but I would be arrested. When Lestrade submits the gun for evidence he will find the same bullet was used on Adair."

John took in every detail and marvelled at his friend's brilliance. "Why would Moran target Adair?" John asked to fill in the only missing piece of the puzzle.

Sherlock considered this for a moment, "Ah John! We can each form our own hypothesis upon present evidence, and yours is likely to be as correct as mine."

"You don't know," John hid his smirk behind his tea cup.

Sherlock fixed him with a glare, "it's not difficult to explain the facts. Moran was fond of gambling. He met Adair and they won a considerable amount of money together. Moran had been cheating; Adair found out and challenged him." John couldn't fault Sherlock's explanation assuming that he was right over the gambling. "We shall have to wait for the trial and I can return to being the world's only consultant detective."

John took a deep breath as he prepared his next question, "What about Harriet?" Sherlock set his cup down, his face a blank mask of composure, and went over to the broken window. "Sherlock?" John prompted setting his empty cup down.

"I don't care for Miss Thornton," Sherlock repeated his earlier statement.

"Bullshit," John didn't sugar coat it. "Go to her and tell her you are alive. If she finds out from the papers Moran will be the least of your worries." Sherlock scoffed, Harriet was nowhere near the leagues of Moran or Moriarty. "Sherlock," John warned, "She told me what you said to her on the roof. You still love her so stop being a dick and sort this out."

John picked up his coat and put it on, "Where are you going?" Sherlock whipped around not hiding his alarm in time.

"Home," John answered.

Sherlock turned back around, "This is your home."

"No Sherlock, not anymore. Mary and I have our own home," John opened the door, "I'll see you later." There was no answer from the sulking consultant detective as he closed the door behind him.

"Oh John, are you leaving?" Mrs Hudson met John on the stairs. It was just coming up to midnight and Mrs Hudson was on her way up to fuss over Sherlock some more.

"Err yeah, Mary, my fiancée," John scratched the back of his head guiltily. He'd not spoken to Mrs Hudson in a long time.

"It's okay John," she patted his arm, "I understand."

"Can you give him Harriet's address and make sure he goes to see her," John requested of his former landlady before departing.

-x-

"No Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouted, "For the last time I will not be _popping_ down to Cornwall to see Miss Thornton!"

Mrs Hudson jumped in surprise, "I'll just leave the address on the table," she tentatively placed Harriet's address onto the table, "good night Sherlock."

Sherlock stood motionless at the window. He could see the table from the corner of his eye. Annoyed at the sentiment he'd buried deep for three years he picked up his violin determined to ignore the address. A few minutes passed. Sherlock didn't realise that he'd stopped playing and now held the address in his hand. He put on his coat, picked up his scarf and strode purposely down the stairs and out onto the dark street.

* * *

**Hello everyone, hope you had a nice Christmas. Thanks to Gwilwillith and poiuyo 123 for reviewing. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

'_**A woman is like a tea bag - you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water'**__**  
**__**Eleanor Roosevelt**_

Sherlock, upon leaving Baker Street, made straight for Mycroft's. His brother was woken from his slumber as Sherlock waited for him in his office studying the wall of books stacked with leather bound collector's items. "As much as I am glad to see you officially alive again dear brother could you not have waited till a more reasonable hour," Mycroft, dressed in a burgundy dressing gown, sat behind his desk.

"You are beyond the help beauty sleep. I need her file," Sherlock requested aware that Mycroft had kept a detailed file on Harriet.

Mycroft answered his brothers question with a quirked eyebrow, "Who?"

"Don't play dumb, Mycroft, it doesn't suit you," Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock," the consultant detective's name rolled from his brother's lips, "I have told you before that caring is not an advantage. It is caring that got you into this mess in the first place."

Sherlock stared at his brother with a cold glare making his demands clear, "Her file, Mycroft, and a car. I'll be waiting outside." Sherlock left the study leaving the door open.

-x-

Mycroft had provided Sherlock with one of his own cars a sleek black jaguar. Sherlock waited for it to be bought round and pulled out his phone looking at the route to Harriet's. He closed the map app and opened his messages sending a message to John.

**On way to Cornwall- SH**

John looked at the text and read between the lines. He was going to see Harriet and needed help.

**Girls like big romantic gestures- John**

John couldn't help but feel that maybe wasn't the right advice but it was the only thing he had. It wasn't like he was an expert in boyfriends coming back from the dead. He didn't think anyone was. As for Sherlock he was also wondering over John's advice. Up until Mandy or Martha, whatever her name was, John was completely and utterly hopeless at holding down a relationship it was more than likely that his advice would be disastrous.

-x-

Harriet had a lovely weekend to herself she was able to get her mind back in order before returning to work on Monday. She didn't think about Sherlock again. Saturday morning she got up early and went for a run making the most of the spring morning. She returned home with tired muscles and a desperate need for a bacon sandwich. Harriet kept herself busy. She found that the best distraction. Having washed down her bacon sandwich with a yoghurt and a strong black coffee she tackled the housework she'd neglected. She left the hovering till last and managed to suck up half the wool that sat neglected on the floor by her favourite chair. Harriet kicked the hoover in frustration before deciding the loss of her knitting was for the best it wasn't very good anyway. Her mum attempted to teach her the last time she was in Durham; once home Harriet sat down to knit on two separate occasions and dropped a number of stitches. Harriet filled her afternoon with the weekly food shop then sat down to an evening of crap telly, a box of maltesers and a middle of the range bottle of white wine feeling every bit the cliché of a single woman. By ten o'clock she was tucked up in bed and drifting off to sleep.

She was up early the next morning and settled down to a boiled egg and soldiers before walking to the village shop for a newspaper. As she returned home and walked up to the drive she saw a man that looked, for all the world, exactly like a dead consultant detective. She stepped back with a gasp and rubbed her eyes. They were playing her up. Harriet blinked. He was still there. Panic began to well up inside. This couldn't be him, it couldn't be Sherlock. It had to be someone else who looked identical. Maybe it was a disguise or maybe there was no body there and her eyes were deceiving her. Harriet couldn't formulate any words as she stood motionless staring at the man.

With some trepidation Harriet walked up to the door and passed the man she then unlocked the door completely ignoring what she now decided was a hallucination. "Harriet," he stepped behind her as she fumbled with her keys. They clattered against the door as her hand shook. His voice sent an uncontrollable shiver down her spine. It wasn't real.

It took all Harriet's self-control not to turn around. She couldn't indulge such a hallucination. When Sherlock first died she saw him everywhere at Baker Street; sat in his chair, bent over the microscope or sprawled out in the bed sheets but as soon as she left Baker Street for County Durham with her mother she no longer saw the tricks her mind played.

Harriet hastily slammed the door behind her to shut out the illusion her mind had conjured. The door didn't shut. Sherlock had been quicker. He stuck his foot against the door frame and was unable to supress a groan with the force of the slammed door. "Harriet. Miss Thornton, don't be so unreasonable," Sherlock pushed open the door and closed it gently behind him. "You aren't dreaming. I'm very much alive. My death was faked." Sherlock closed the distance between them and took the hand not clutching a newspaper in his. Immediately she snatched it back. He wasn't dead. The bastard.

-x-

"And what time do you call this?" Mary's sharp tone cut through the silent flat as John tiredly walked through the front door.

John glanced down at his watch and checked the time. 3.49am, "I'm really sorry Mary. We were catching up and lost track of time."

Mary appraised him for a moment as she tried to fight the smile creeping onto her face at a very guilty John, "I said I didn't mind. I'm glad you had fun. I was only getting water anyway," she walked into the kitchen, "want one?"

John couldn't quite believe his luck; Mary really was one in a million. "Errrrrm yeah," he cleared his throat that had constricted in nervousness, "yeah please."

"So good night? You don't look like you had much to drink," Mary returned with two glasses of water.

"No, I'm," John was about to say he was working tomorrow but with Sherlock's return he'd walked out and probably no longer had a job. Mary was going to kill him.

"I'm what?" she prompted.

"Listen Mary that old friend I met up with tonight," John ran his hand through his hair. He was far too tired to retell the whole story. "I was with Sherlock."

"John," Mary's voice softened in sympathy.

"No, no it's not what you think. He's alive. I saw him. We went on a case. He materialised in the surgery and well," John finished hoping to body swerve the whole 'I might not have a job anymore' issue.

"And?" Mary prompted. John fell in love with his fiancée all over again. She was so calm about the whole thing and almost seemed as interested as he was to know what had happened to Sherlock in the last three years.

"He faked his death to save my life and Lestrade's and Mrs Hudson's. Moriarty had snipers. All this time Sherlock has been taking apart Moriarty's web and tonight some bloke named Moran was the last piece and we got him!"

Mary's smile mirrored her partners. John was the happiest she'd ever seen him and she was happy for him. "You aren't going back to the surgery, are you?"

John's smile faltered, "Errr well, the thing is I walked out with Sherlock they might not want me back. I'll find another job though."

"It won't make you happy though," she replied, "I'd rather you were happy. We can figure it out tomorrow. I'm going back to bed, are you coming?" Mary walked to their bedroom and turned back to look at him. John, spurred into action by look on his fiancées face, caught up with her and kissed her before closing the bedroom door behind him to get some much needed sleep.

-x-

As Sherlock stood gazing at Harriet for the first time since he'd jumped from the roof of St. Bart's he contemplated his best course of action. Neither of them had moved from the hall. Sherlock could read the shock in her widened eyes and slight hitch in her breath as he spoke. Her brow was furrowed in confusion. He knew that she would be angry at him; John had been angry at him. As if on cue the bruise on his jaw throbbed painfully.

After stepping closer to Harriet Sherlock lost all control over his body. It was acting off its own accord as he pondered John's advice, 'big romantic gesture' Sherlock could manage that after the alternatives he'd contemplated abandoned him.

"No. No. No. No," Harriet backed away from him, she dropped the newspaper onto the floor, "No, you don't get to that. You're dead."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm not." He stepped closer again and this time placed his hands on her cheeks to stop her from backing away not that she could with stairs directly behind her.

"What the bloody hell do think you are doing!" Harriet shoved him away with as much force as she could muster. He deserved much worse but that could wait. "Three years Sherlock. Three horrible years and now you just waltz right up my drive without so much as a hello or better yet an apology and decide that it would be a good idea to kiss me. I've got news for you pal. That was not a good idea."

Despite Sherlock's own apprehensions he had hoped to sweep Harriet off her feet and then carry on as if it was business as usual. So much for that. Sherlock mused to himself that John was going to pay for that advice.

"You're mad," Sherlock stated.

"Yes brilliant deduction but mad doesn't even begin to cover. Just leave," Harriet regretted telling him to leave as soon as she said it.

"You don't want me to leave," her tone of voice had been evidence enough for Sherlock.

Harriet was silent for a moment. She took a few calming breaths and observed the insufferable arse stood in front of her. He'd lost weight, far too much than was healthy in Harriet's opinion. The only other change her eyes could pick up was the shorter length of his hair apart from that he was still very much the imposing consultant detective right down to the upturned collar of his coat. Harriet eyed the bruise on Sherlock's cheek having made her own deduction as to its origins, "I'm glad John hit you."

Sherlock acknowledged her comment with a slight quirk of his mouth. "I was ready to convince myself that I did not need to see you again. John informed me that you shouldn't find out that I was alive from the news. Deceiving you was necessary and for that I'm sorry," Sherlock's eye contact never waivered

Harriet couldn't get her head straight. Sherlock was alive, he was there in her hallway and he was apologising. How could it be real? "I'll put the kettle on," Harriet muttered, "the living room is through there."

Sherlock sat in the living room listening to Harriet clattering around. After his first failed attempt at placating Harriet with what was sure to be more than satisfying kiss Sherlock needed to think. Harriet was angry something he should have expected. A cupboard door banged shut, cutlery rattled as a draw was forced shut. For a few seconds the only sound coming from the kitchen was the boiling kettle until breaking china on tiles pierced the quiet followed by a colourful curse. Sherlock found himself smiling at Harriet's behaviour only now realising how much he'd missed her. He was pleased to see that she was still the same strong-willed woman with an incredibly stubborn streak. Sherlock hastily wiped the smile from his face as she walked in with a tray.

"I made tea and there are biscuits," Oh god, Harriet berated herself, I'm turning into my mother, "rich tea and I found some chocolate digestives but they look a bit stale."

"You don't drink tea," Sherlock looked at the two tea cups. Harriet's mind was in no fit state to figure that fact out as she took one of the cups and sat in the only armchair in the room not wanting to be too close to Sherlock who was sat on her small two seat settee. Sherlock chose not to comment.

She sipped the hot tea and grimaced at the taste, "Tell me everything, please."

* * *

**Reunion time :D Thanks to owlsrawsome and Gwilwillith for reviewing. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

'_**I simply can't build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery and death... I think... peace and tranquillity will return again'**__**  
**__**Anne Frank**_

Harriet listened intently to everything Sherlock had to say as he sat across from her in the living room occasionally sipping on his tea. She still couldn't believe that he was alive. Harriet let out a shaky laugh as he came to a natural break in his explanations, "Sorry, it's just, this all sounds like a James Bond plot." Sherlock's own deep chuckle joined her laugh stirring something inside that she thought she would never feel again. Harriet crushed the stirring with the reminder that she was still very angry at Sherlock. As a distraction she picked up her luke warm tea and took a sip, Sherlock watched as she pulled a face at the taste.

"You don't need to prove anything to me. John has informed me that you were a mess and this," Sherlock gestured with his hand, "is all a front."

"Is not," Harriet defended.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Harriet new exactly what was about to happen. "Curtains, wonky hem. You are too particular to buy them like that so, handmade. A distraction. Stack of books on the coffee table. Two cookery books, photography manual, historical novel, Sudoku puzzles and a step by step knitting guide to no doubt accompany the atrocity you call a scarf half-finished abandoned by your chair. Would you like me to comment on the state of the front garden?" Harriet stared in awe at Sherlock as he once again stripped away everything leaving her naked. She was unable to answer his question and allowed him to continue. Sherlock drew in a deep breath following his lengthy deduction, "All six plant pots recently replanted, lawn cut regularly. You have been far from fine instead choosing to occupy by your mind with mundane hobbies. Am I wrong?"

"You are wrong about the curtains. I bought them but I did take up the hem because the ceilings are too low," his deduction had struck a nerve so anything to knock Sherlock down a peg or two was more than welcome. She wanted to feel insulted but he was right and as Harriet had pursued hobby after hobby she knew deep down that she was only sweeping everything under the rug.

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a second, "There's always something."

Harriet decided to steer the conversation away from herself as she collected her wits some more, "John and Mrs Hudson must be over the moon to have you back."

"John is living with his woman," Sherlock complained.

"Mary," Harriet provided her name for the consultant detective's benefit. He waved his hand considering the woman's name frivolous to the conversation.

"Baker Street won't be the same," Sherlock

Harriet thought about what he said for a moment, "It's been three years-"

"I'm aware," Sherlock interrupted.

"Oh hush, I'm not finished yet. It's been three years so you can't expect everything and everyone to be the same including yourself," Harriet felt she deserved a medal for such a bold statement.

Sherlock formulated a retort, "John still wants to work cases with me. Mrs Hudson is still my landlady, Mycroft is still indulging in one too many calorific treats and you will still interfere with my experiments when you cook. Not everything has changed."

Harriet listened to what he said and almost felt guilty for what she was about to do, "You want me to come back."

"Yes," Sherlock was already getting to his feet, he checked his watch, "We can be at Baker Street by eight if you pack quickly."

"Slow down a second. I haven't said yes," inside Harriet was giddy at such a prospect but she couldn't rush into things now that she had a life for herself in Cornwall.

Sherlock turned to face her with his coat under his arm, "It's not like we broke up."

"No, you just killed yourself," Harriet replied dryly, "I'm not going Sherlock."

"And why not?" Sherlock

"When you died I made a life for myself here after you and Moriarty stamped all over what was my life. I needed something different and this it. I like living here and I like my job," Harriet paused for a breath to prepare herself, "I'm not sure I want to go back to three years ago."

"Moriarty is dead, his web of criminals is gone," Sherlock didn't see the problem.

Harriet sighed, "Sit down Sherlock, please." She waited for him to sit down before continuing, "I was angry for a long time after you fell. I even hated you at one point and so did John for a while not because we thought you were a fake, we knew you weren't, but it was because you chose to kill yourself. For crying out loud you drugged me, who does that?" Her question was rhetorical.

"You would have interfered," Sherlock answered, "and I-I couldn't let you watch."

"You took the choice away from me," Harriet answered back.

"You didn't leave me with any other options," Sherlock replied. Harriet's head was starting to hurt, this was getting her nowhere. A thick silence filled the air. The more Harriet thought about the situation the less inclined she was to return to London with Sherlock.

Harriet swilled the cold contents of the mug she was clutching like a lifeline. Looking at Sherlock in any way was becoming too difficult. "What we had wasn't supposed to be serious anyway," Harriet knew instantly that what she'd said had come out wrong. The consultant detective glowered at her from across the room. She hastily corrected herself, "What I mean is…oh, I don't know. Neither one of us said we wanted a boyfriend or a girlfriend."

"It is not subject I take lightly," Sherlock, for once, was being open about his feelings.

"Neither can I but look," Harriet broke off her sentence and got to her feet. She carefully set down the cold half-drunk tea and sat herself down on the settee next to Sherlock. "Look at everything here. I had to keep myself busy and this is what I have to show for it and I'm happy. We had six months together; we'd both be lying if we said they were an easy six months." Harriet twisted her fingers together in her lap and finally steadied herself to meet Sherlock's icy eyes, "You say Moriarty is no longer a threat and I believe you but it's not him I'm worried about. Three years ago you were an internet phenomenon and the papers bloody loved you so who is to say that someone else won't take a fancy to you. They could turn out to be worse than Moriarty. I'm not sure I could do that to myself again."

Sherlock listened to what Harriet was saying he couldn't fault her for her having such worries, "I wouldn't put you in harm's way."

"I know that," it didn't go unnoticed to Harriet that he couldn't promise to protect not that she would expect that to him. He

"Then come back to Baker Street," Sherlock was adamant.

Harriet shook her head, "No, at least not yet, please. Give me time."

Sherlock didn't stay for much longer. He allowed Harriet to fuss on with making some lunch and they spoke some more about Sherlock's time away. He didn't speak about the work he'd had to do but instead spoke about the places he'd seen. When he went out for a cigarette Harriet nearly lost it with him. He caught her steely glare whilst she was preparing lunch through the kitchen window and stamped out the cigarette.

"Goodbye Sherlock," Harriet opened the front door for him. Daringly he leaned forward and kissed her check softly before stepping over the threshold. Harriet stood on the doorstep and watched him walk down the drive with her hand resting on her cheek wanting desperately to run after him and kiss him as if her life depended on it. "Insufferable arse," she grumbled under her breath.

At the end of the street he stopped and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He lit one, much to Harriet's displeasure, and turned left. Harriet hadn't asked him how he got there or even how he was getting home it wasn't her problem. She slammed her front door with more force than was necessary with the purpose of doing some marking for school to take her mind of the revelations of the morning.

-x-

_**1 Year Ago, Shanghai**_

Chuin Wei, a recently graduated doctor in Biochemistry from a prestigious University. The completion of his PhD and several years' experience in a pharmacy had given Chuin everything he needed to pursue a career in pharmaceuticals.

After an afternoon at the cinema with his girlfriend he was planning to return home for dinner before meeting friends at his favourite bar until a phone call from an unrecognised number put an end to his evening.

"Mr Wei," an elderly voice addressed Chuin as he answered the phone, "It is in your best interest that you listen very carefully to what I am about to say. You presence is requested as part of a distinguished team of scientists. Instructions will be delivered to your phone. Cut all ties with friends and family. If you fail to follow the instructions to the last detail then I only hope that you are prepared for the consequences facing you and those you care for." Before Chuin could answer the phone was cut off.

He stared at his phone in disbelief at first he thought it was government work but the threat at the end had Chuin thinking twice. It took the arrival of the instructions with an accompanying set of pictures showing his parents sitting down to dinner and his date with a girlfriend. Whoever they were they had been watching him. Chuin was too fearful to disobey the instructions.

-x-

_**Present Day**_

In the three weeks following his return Sherlock respected Harriet's request and gave her time. John was more than a little surprised that Sherlock had persevered with it but of course that meant that John copped it twice over from the consultant detective especially when he couldn't go out to play because Mary said so, oh that really got Sherlock going. "You're scared of her," Sherlock was glaring down at John as they waited for Lestrade in the lobby of New Scotland Yard.

"Of course I'm scared of her. I mean it Sherlock I'll come along to the crime scene and then I need to go home. Its date night and I missed it last week and the week before…" John didn't continue because Sherlock had already stopped listening.

Lestrade visited Sherlock four days after his return with a formal invitation and a contract from the yard for him to resume his consultancy. The contract was delivered to Baker Street the next day by Sally Donavan who was now a Detective Inspector in her own rights. Things were to be much the same as before although this time there would be conditions which everyone, excluding Sherlock, saw as a benefit. John suspected that Mycroft had involved himself somewhere to ensure that his brother still had something to occupy his mind.

Both John and Sherlock would receive payment for their work. John was more than happy for this having lost his job on the day of Sherlock's return. He'd gone into the surgery the next day but unfortunately for him they decided that they wanted someone who could show more dedication to the job. John found that he preferred working for the yard and doing the occasional day of locum work when things were slow. It was ideal.

The condition that irked Sherlock the most was the clause one that stated that under no circumstances was evidence to be removed without approval from senior channels. That meant Sherlock couldn't borrow pink suitcases or pickpocket dead bodies without anyone being none the wiser. However, it wasn't the icing on the cake, no that title went to Anderson's promotion to head of the forensics team. Sherlock was very vocal over the fact and complained about how much of an inconvenience it was going to be.

Initially Sherlock and John were kept busy with a number of shelved cases from the three years that Sherlock was off playing the vigilante. The force couldn't deny that Sherlock's help was doing wonders for their solved crime statistics. "I mean it Sherlock, it needs to be above board this time," Lestrade reminded Sherlock as they met at their first crime scene following the signing of the contract.

-x-

It took a lot of effort on Harriet's part to get a class of year seven's to get on with their work on Monday morning. All they could talk about was the return of 'that cool detective' and 'I want a Sherlock Holmes hat.' She kept to herself that she was more than an acquaintance of the consultant detective. A part of her was proud to hear Sherlock talked about in the staff room during lunch time.

For three weeks she listened to what was said about Sherlock and at lunch time she would obsess over the news stories on the internet in the hope finding out what he was up to. She could almost hear him complain about such and such being an 'incompetent moron', or 'don't these people know anything.' Harriet finished reading an article on the BBC news pages and slipped her phone from her bag after checking there was no one around to tell her off.

**You have been busy- HT**

Sherlock and Harriet had exchanged numbers during his visit to her home in Cornwall and up until now Harriet had managed to prevent herself from sending him anything but her will power was waning. Almost instantly she received a reply.

**NSY incompetence at solving cases can only be a result of Anderson's promotion to head of forensics- SH**

Harriet had to laugh to herself and typed out a reply.

**Play nice- HT**

Not everything had changed in three years.

* * *

**Thanks for favouriting/alerting everyone. I'm trying to update once a week and nearly didn't get this finished because I've spent so much time playing in the snow (built a massive snowman then shot at it with a nerf gun :D). Anyways, thanks to Annie and Gwilwillith for reviewing. Enjoy!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

'_**Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will forgive us everything, even our gigantic intellects'**__**  
**_**Oscar Wilde**

_**Seven Months Ago, Shanghai**_

Chuin had been working for his mysterious employer for the last three months. A regular and large sum of money was deposited into his bank account once a month not that Chuin went anywhere to spend it out of fear. He learnt a lot in the three months since that phone call. Chuin was working, alongside specialists in other fields, to develop a mutated form of Orthomyxovirus, the pathogen behind the influenza a virus.

Initially Chuin was informed that this was so that the government could better understand the influenza virus and how they could eradicate it to ensure its workers maintained productivity in the factories but Chuin wasn't daft. Six years at University proved that. No government papers had been seen and he'd walked in on numerous hushed conversations that were discontinued immediately. It kept Chuin awake till the early hours of the morning as he fretted. Chuin thought it was top-secret work even beyond the government's ownership but the threat to his family and friends and the whispered name of westerners put his thoughts down another path.

Chuin tried to ask around when he first started before the fear really began to sink in. It wasn't until his assistant in the lab went missing for three days only to return bruised and battered that he stopped asking around, not that he'd found out much anyway. The only useful piece of information was that the project start date, four years ago. It was commissioned by Moriarty, whoever or whatever that was, but past that originally injection of capital no other mention was made of the name.

"Wei!" the demanding voice of Tao Meng startled Chuin through the intercom into the lab he spent many gruelling hours in. "A status report on the incubation period." Tao Meng was a middle-aged man with more than his fair share of jagged scars that had Chuin all but cowering in fear of the man.

-x-

_**Present Day**_

John had just enough time to pick up a small bouquet of flowers before returning home to Mary. He squeezed himself onto a crowded carriage on the underground and tried his best to protect his flowers.

"Remembered our date?" Mary teased as she greeted him.

"Errr yeah," John replied somewhat sheepishly after the last two forgotten times, "I bought flowers."

"Thank you," Mary tried to keep a straight face as she looked down at the limp bouquet.

John grinned, "Oh go on laugh." Mary leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek as she laughed at the state of the flowers. She put the flowers and set them down in the centre of the table where they would then sit for the best part of two weeks.

Mary and John went out for dinner. On their way home conversation turned to Sherlock. Mary had only met the enigmatic man once so far. "Have you always dropped everything for Sherlock?" Mary had been wary of asking the question but after John skipped out on her for the seventh time since Sherlock's return she decided to just get on with it.

"Oh," John sounded disappointed this was how most of his other relationships had ended. Next would be 'I'm sure you and Sherlock Holmes will be very happy together.'

"Because if that is the case then," here it comes, John thought to himself, "We should have him over dinner. I'd like to get to know the man who keeps stealing my soon to be husband away."

"You want to have Sherlock over dinner?" John masked his surprise with a laugh.

Mary frowned at him, "Problem?"

"No, not at all. I just hope you know what you're getting yourself in for," John curbed his laughter at the look Mary was giving him. During his time in Africa John and the children they worked with learned very quickly that Mary was capable of giving a look that could silence in an instant.

_**Two Weeks and Three Days Ago**_

After everything John had told Mary about the man she was slightly disappointed in their first meeting. She'd held out her hand deliberately expecting Sherlock not to shake it but he surprised both her and John by accepting the offered hand. Mary was geared up to give as good as she got to Sherlock for whatever freakily accurate deduction he made but none came. He even smiled much to Mary's annoyance.

"What was that?" John pounced on Sherlock as soon as they were out of the flat in pursuit of their first official post-return case together.

Sherlock was several steps ahead of him, "Be more specific."

John cursed the consultant detective's long legs. He all but ran to catch up, "With Mary, what was that? You are never that nice without an ulterior motive." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John ploughed on regardless, "Actually I don't want to know. Don't spoil it for me Sherlock, I mean it."

"John," Sherlock feigned offence, "I would not dream of doing such a thing." John raised his eyebrows as if saying 'yeah, right.' "If you are marrying the woman then it is in the interest of solving cases together that we 'get on' with each other."

"You learnt a lot from Harriet, didn't you?" John teased.

"Women are not to be taken lightly," Sherlock replied as he turned up the collar of his coat and put an end to the conversation.

John laughed, "Can't argue with that."

-x-

_**Present Day**_

"You bought wine," John opened the front door of his flat to Sherlock and took the bottle of wine that was pushed into his empty hands by the consultant detective, "wait a second. You, you bought wine!"

"Hello John, Mary," Sherlock's eyes glittered with something that John normally only saw on a particularly exciting case. John groaned; it was going to be a long night. Poor Mary.

John and Sherlock sat in the living room leaving Mary to finish the cooking. John tried to help but Mary sent him packing with the specific job of sorting drinks for dinner.

"Harriet?" John hit the nail on the head as Sherlock's phoned pinged from his pocket. He'd been aware of Sherlock's obsessive texting over the last week. John was more than happy to see Sherlock investing some of his time into something other than cases and experiments. He had worried for Sherlock upon his return but slowly the consultant detective was readjusting to humanity once again and John's worry was beginning to subside.

"Hmmm," Sherlock replied. His fingers danced across the screen and the phone was put away again. It was soon out again as a reply came through. John was going to ask about Harriet further when Mary announced that dinner was on the table.

John was glad to see his friend tucking into the meal that Mary had made. She'd prepared chicken parcels with mixed Mediterranean vegetables. In John's opinion, as a friend and a doctor, Sherlock had lost too much weight during his time away but with Mrs Hudson's constant cooking between cases he was starting to look a little healthier.

"What did Harriet have to say?" John asked as soon as compliments and pleasantries were made about the meal.

"Nothing that concerns you," Sherlock answered.

Mary cut in, "Come on, tell us, was it a dirty text?" John's eyes shot to his fiancées and then to Sherlock. Poor Mary indeed.

A hint of pink rose its way onto the consultant detectives pale cheeks; he painfully swallowed his half chewed food, "No." Mary laughed at his discomfort. She knew perfectly well the text had been completely innocent not that it stopped her. Mary and Harriet did their training together at the same University; Harriet was secondary and Mary was primary. They had worked together on a project on the transition between the two whilst studying and since then they'd regularly kept in touch.

"I haven't seen Harriet in a long time. You should ask her to come up to London, half term is coming up," Mary spoke casually. To John there was no mistaking what she was doing. He exchanged a look with Mary that said 'well played'.

"John, I did not come here for you and your future wife to organise my love life. If you want to see Miss Thornton invite her yourself," Sherlock's tone put an end to the subject. Mary didn't want to overstep the mark too far and asked about the boys' recent case instead. John and Sherlock managed to do the case justice in their retelling. Where Sherlock had the facts John had the humour.

-x-

_**The Day Before**_

It was once again a Friday night and Harriet was ready for the weekend. All week she had been in high spirits, "You're cheerful after that lot," Libby made her usual Friday night visit to Harriet's room. She'd just had the rowdiest year nine form in the school.

"I know, I survived," Harriet joked as she picked up a screwed up ball of paper from under desk and threw it in the bin.

Libby perched herself on one of the desks, "So pub tonight? Or maybe you have a date?"

"A date?" Harriet's brow creased quizzically.

"Yeah. You are far too happy, ergo a man," Harriet blushed furiously.

"There's no man," she answered and busied herself with tidying the exercise books on the shelf.

Libby gave her a knowing look, "Liar." Libby stayed around to question Harriet further but she was giving nothing away much to Libby's displeasure, "Fine, keep your secrets."

_**Present Day**_

Harriet's colleagues weren't the only ones who had developed an interest in her love life. Her mother had also put in her pennies worth on Saturday morning.

"I wish you'd told me he was back," Her mother berated. Harriet had forgotten all about telling her mum. Sherlock had been at her forefront of her thoughts since he showed up on her front door step between that and teaching Harriet had very little time on her hands for a catch up with her mum.

"What did you want me to do? Phone you up, chat about the weather and who won I'm a celebrity dancer on ice or whatever it is this week oh, and by the way my dead boyfriend thought it would be a good idea to turn up and try and snog me," Harriet had perhaps gone a bit too far with her tirade. Her mother's prying was irritating to say the least.

Harriet pulled the phone away from her ear in preparation for her mother's scolding, "Don't you take that tone with me young lady."

"Sorry mum, I'm just tired," Harriet had been up until well after midnight texting Sherlock something she wasn't about to tell her mum.

_**The Day Before**_

Harriet, after getting herself a drink, slid her way into the pub window seats and waited for the other members of the humanities department to join her. As she waited she took out her phone. There was a new message from Sherlock.

**Dinner at John's- SH**

With a beaming smile on her face Harriet tapped out a reply.

**Behave otherwise Mary won't let John come out to play- HT**

Harriet locked her phone and set it on the table where she could see the reply as soon as it arrived. She needn't have bothered because the screen lit up straight away.

**I'll just be myself- SH**

**Wouldn't have it any other way-HT**

Harriet found herself flirting with Sherlock via text for what must have been the hundredth time since his visit four weeks ago. She mentally scolded herself and resolved not to send anymore texts to Sherlock until tomorrow although, one more couldn't hurt to find out how the dinner went.

By eleven o'clock Harriet was considering going to bed after a microwave meal and two large glasses of wine when her phone chimed from the living room. She dropped her glass on the kitchen side; the washing up could wait, and snatched up her phone.

**It has been bough to my attention that you have a holiday in a few weeks- SH**

Harriet blinked in surprise. Was Sherlock asking her to join him in London? She blamed Mary. This was her fault, oh how she wished she'd never suggested to John to go to Africa in the first place.

**May half-term- HT**

Harriet replied with slight trepidation. She wanted to go to London purely for the purpose of shopping and not because of the insufferable arse.

**Come to London- SH**

**Please-SH**

Harriet hesitated over her decision not trusting herself to come back to Cornwall once she there. Sherlock was, for the most part, forgiven. Harriet even went as far to forgive him for drugging her and leaving her on the roof. After some though Harriet decided that his motives for what he did were good, thinking back to how she dealt with his death to have the image of him falling permanently etched on her mind would have only made matters worse. A part of Harriet felt gratitude that for the second time he had saved her from the a fate at the hands of Moriarty and his men but it was that reason that kept her from jumping back into bed with the consultant detective. Harriet started to type an excuse about a visit to her mum to give her more time.

**Your mother can wait- SH**

Of course Sherlock anticipated her text. Harriet's blood boiled at his cheek. She resolved to make him work for her visit something that the more thought about it more inevitable it became. Harriet chose to ignore his texts for the time being and went up to bed to read for a bit knowing that if there was anything Sherlock hated more than anything it was being ignored.

**Miss Thornton? - SH**

The texts came through at regular intervals for the next two hours.

**Ignoring me will achieve nothing- SH**

**Dinner was nice- SH**

**Mrs Hudson has yet to return my skull; I have no one to talk to- SH**

**Harriet?-SH**

-x-

Sherlock soon felt right at home once again as 221B rapidly returned to its former state of cluttered papers, hazardous experiments and noise at all hours of the day. A new microscope had been obtained, a more up to date model, after Mrs Hudson gave his away to a school. Cultures were growing in the fridge alongside the cheese and there was never any milk. Sherlock managed to overcome this with a well-timed text to John before he arrived at Baker Street to work on a case.

"John, pass me the newspaper," Sherlock requested as he ate a plate of scrambled egg on toast that Mrs Hudson had cooked. His landlady had become more of a house keeper in the absence of John and Harriet. She felt sorry for the man that was more like a son to her. After everything he had been through here he was sitting alone. Mrs Hudson considered returning his skull that she'd boxed up following his faked suicide but decided to hang onto it a while longer after the loss he'd put her through. Another week couldn't hurt, could it?

"John's not here," Mrs Hudson answered him and handed him the newspaper.

"Yes, yes, of course," Sherlock bristled and took the newspaper, "thank you."

There was no Harriet or John. He needed to remedy that. With no case John wouldn't be around and the blog was having a slow day with nothing over a five worth pursuing to stave away the boredom. As for Harriet she hadn't answered his texts from the night before. He knew her too well to think that she had fallen asleep last night. Sherlock had given her time and space or at least his version of. The texts didn't count and she started them anyway. Sherlock was being deliberately ignored. He was under the impression that a month was more than long enough; Sherlock couldn't quite understand why she would need any longer.

* * *

**Snow day today :) so instead of marking work I finished this chapter (and built another snowman), enjoy!**

**O.O LOLz- Loved your review , thank you. Hope the finals went well!**

**Poiuy134- Thanks! I really couldn't see Sherlock and Harriet fixing everything in the blink of a eye, plus its more fun this way :)**

**Gwilwillith- Thanks once again :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

'_**One of the greatest discoveries a man makes, one of his great surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn't do'**__**  
**_**Henry Ford**

Harriet eventually responded to Sherlock's text having had time to think about it. She couldn't concentrate on her book as she continually berated herself for not giving herself the time or space to really think about things with Sherlock. _The insufferable arse and his bloody texts_, was a phrase Harriet grumbled to herself everytime she typed out a reply the following day. She really was a glutton for punishment sometimes.

**You could come to Cornwall- HT**

**I'm working-SH**

**Take a day off- HT**

-x-

With John no longer residing at Baker Street Sherlock found that he could no longer tolerate being alone all the time. He'd lived alone for years but then John had come along. There had been other flat mates before John but they'd passed through quicker than the nine AM Eurostar to Paris. John had been the first one to really stick it out, the first one not to tell the consultant detective to piss off, and now he was living with his fiancée and not at Baker Street. It meant that Sherlock was frequently without his blogger in the evenings.

John was otherwise engaged for the evening leaving Sherlock to solve a particularly dull case that Lestrade had bought to him. It was more a sympathy case than anything else. Lestrade bought it along following a hint from John that the consultant detective was at a bit of a loose end. Sherlock took the case despite already knowing the motive behind it. With the case all wrapped up in record time the consultant detective found himself once again at a loose end. Since his return everything had changed. He couldn't even go to St. Bart's as and when he pleased. Molly was no longer there. When Sherlock conjured up his charming persona he was able to gleam from a pathology student in the lab that Molly was currently on maternity leave. The temporary pathologist was less inclined to let Sherlock run riot in the lab. A call to Mycroft soon sorted that but even then the lab wasn't the same. The temporary pathologist didn't bring Sherlock cups of coffee the way he liked it, in fact Sherlock didn't get offered any coffee whatsoever.

Everyone was moving on. All doing the silly little mundane things that ordinary people lived their lives for. Doing the things that made then happy. Sherlock had been happy solving cases. Happy solving them with John with trips to the lab where he was happy to sweet talk Molly into letting him take-over the equipment but then Harriet had come along. It was Mrs Hudson's fault really, she was the one to go on holiday letting a complete stranger into her home but then Sherlock found himself equally happy to be in Harriet's company which let Mrs Hudson off the hook. Changes had come thick and fast until John moved on, Molly moved on and even Lestrade to a certain extent. Three years was a long time, it was 1095 days that left Sherlock feeling as if he should have taken less than three years to dismantle Moriarty's web maybe then things could have stayed as they were.

Sherlock tried to turn his attention from thoughts that were boarding on being sentimental and instead chose to focus on his latest composition. He didn't hear his phone the first time it signalled a message but on the beat of a rest its reminder filtered through. Carefully Sherlock set the Stradivarius down and took up the phone.

**You could come to Cornwall- HT**

Sherlock typed up a reply in seconds having waited since the night before for an answer from her. Her lack of reply had plunged Sherlock into a monumental sulk. Having received her reply Sherlock, in need of something to stave of the creeping boredom, was more than willing to spar via text.

**I'm working-SH**

He smirked as moments later her reply came through. His sulk was now completely forgotten.

**Take a day off- HT**

Sherlock couldn't possibly take a day off. It was out of the question and besides what he really wanted was for Harriet to come up to London so that things could be as they were pre-fall. As Sherlock contemplated his reply another text came through.

-x-

_**Two Weeks Ago**_

Chuin arrived at the port of Felixstowe on the east coast after an early train from London. He was with Tao Meng to retrieve a smuggled shipment. Tao had taken control of the operation following the demise of Moriarty's and managed to secure funding through a mafia movement in Shanghai. He was planning to dupe the mafia upon the release of the pathogen that Chuin was heavily involved in. It could then be sold to criminals worldwide and Tao would be able to keep all the profit. Everything and everyone else was just collateral damage, including Chuin.

Felixstowe was a bustling shipping port. Prior to Chuin's arrival Tao had organised the black mail of a customs officer at the port. Chuin wanted to report everything but with no proof he had little choice but to obey the subtle threats from Tao especially when they were directed towards his family. Chuin watched as containers were unloaded and stacked. They'd arrived in a brand new van that still had the new car smell. Inside it had been kitted out with the equipment needed to transport the pathogen.

-x-

_**Present Day**_

**I'll strike you a deal- HT**

Harriet grinned despite herself as she sent through her text. Without Sherlock there to observe and deduce her she felt she had the upper hand in the situation although the more Harriet thought at it the more she realised that Sherlock could make a pretty sound deduction based solely upon the language used in her text and the speed with which she replied.

**I'm listening-SH**

Again Harriet smiled glad that the consultant detective was playing along.

**I'll come to London if you come to Cornwall first- HT**

Harriet knew exactly what she was doing. It wasn't that she didn't want to go to London it was more to do with the fact that after three years thinking Sherlock was dead she wanted to make him suffer a little. Harriet, despite her suggestion, really didn't think it was in Sherlock's or her own best interests for him to join her for a few days in Cornwall. The man openly declared his boredom in the most exciting city in Britain, Cornwall just wouldn't cut it. Harriet couldn't imagine the enigmatic consultant detective going for strolls along the cliff tops or having a pasty on the pier. With this in mind she'd already made plans to get the train to London during her holidays without the consultant detective knowing.

**You're doing this deliberately-SH**

-x-

Sherlock flipped his phone over in his hand as he stared out of the window down at the street. The woman stood on the corner of the road trying to hail a taxi was on her way to meet her lover. Sherlock turned his gaze further down the street, his deduction of the teenage boys boisterously making their way down the footpath taking up most of the room went no further than an initial cursory glance. Harriet had been hasty in her reply and it was again a welcome distraction.

**Wouldn't dream of doing such a thing ;)-HT **

"Oh good god! Why does it have to wink?" Sherlock locked his phone and pocketed it. He was definitely not going to Cornwall now. Before Harriet's text his only stumbling block to Cornwall was Mycroft. After his last return from Cornwall Sherlock had left the car Mycroft lent to him parked on double yellow lines where it was towed and clamped. His brother left him a voicemail after Sherlock ignored his call to tell him that there would be no more borrowing of cars if he was going to behave like a petulant child.

"Are you talking to yourself again Sherlock," the consultant detective hadn't noticed Mrs Hudson's entrance earlier as she began to clean around him. Sherlock grunted as a way of reply, "Can I throw these ears out?" Mrs Hudson held up a plastic zip-lock bag. Inside several ears were festering.

"No," Sherlock strode into the kitchen looking horrified at the mere mention of throwing them out, "It's an experiment." He hastily opened the microwave door and tossed them unceremoniously inside.

"You really should keep this clean if Harriet is coming to stay," Mrs Hudson fussed on some more. Sherlock paid no attention to what Mrs Hudson was saying. In his eyes Mrs Hudson was only speculating over a visit from her relative.

-x-

_**A Week Later**_

"John Watson!" Mary shouted as the door shut behind the consultant detective and his blogger.

"That is why I'm scared of her," John breathed as he and Sherlock raced for the stairs.

"Best not to dawdle then," Sherlock countered.

Lestrade had called John with a case that was more in John's line of expertise than Sherlock's. John quickly sent a text to Sherlock with a brief explanation and the added message that he would need to come and rescue him from the joys of wedding planning.

Mary was taking wedding planning very seriously. She'd put everything into a file and regularly left a stack of bridal magazines by the side of the bed. If John so much as moved one the world would come to an end. He couldn't see what all the fuss about; why one type of flower was better than another for his button hole was beyond him. After he voiced this thought once he never voiced it again.

Sherlock turned up at just the right time. John was about to tell Mary that he didn't think it was important to put too much thought into a caterer when everyone was more interested in the free bar when the buzzer for the flat rang. The ex-army doctor buzzed his friend in as he went to get his coat and shoes all the while trying to placate Mary.

The consultant detective diligently listened to his friend as he complained about the wedding planning having himself been accosted by a frantic Mary worrying about a venue a few days beforehand, "this is exactly why I'm married to my work."

"I'm starting to think that is a very wise thing to be," John sighed in fatigue.

-x-

The case turned out to be an exciting one. A famous pearl had been stolen from the hotel room of an important dignitary. The Black Pearl of the Borgias. It had been hidden amongst a set of limited edition busts of napoleon, a favourite amongst enthusiasts.

John had been fascinated with the pearl and wondered if anyone would miss it if he pinched it for Mary. It would certainly get him out of the dog house for running off with Sherlock. John had to settle for a box of maltesers and an expensive bottle of wine has an apology.

-x-

Half term arrived. Harriet was more than ready for a week off. She had some marking to do but that could wait until the Sunday afternoon before she returned to school. She put her school issue laptop away into the cupboard under the stairs along with everything else that had any relation to teaching. Harriet went out for the traditional Friday night pub trip with the department and ended up with quite the hangover the next morning. She had an easy day as she packed a bag for London. Mrs Hudson was putting her up. As far as things with Sherlock were concerned he still had no idea that she coming or at least she hoped not. Their texting had gone quiet as Sherlock took up a tricky case. Harriet didn't mind if it meant that the consultant detective was none the wiser to her arrival. She wanted to be able to surprise him. Her last text had ended with Harriet saying she had too much work to do so maybe it was better if they left things till another time.

Harriet arrived at Baker Street. She hadn't seen it since she left three years ago. The doorbell had long since been fixed in her absence. Mrs Hudson opened the door and gave Harriet a bone crushing hug. "Hello dear, I'm glad you're hear," they both knew it wasn't because it was nice to catch up instead it had more to do with a more unbearable than usual Sherlock Holmes.

-x-

Sherlock charged his way through the front door of Baker Street. He was in need of a book for a particularly gritty case. Lestrade and John followed him up both eager to see what incredibly spectacular solution Sherlock had. John nearly collided with Sherlock as they burst into the living room. The man was frozen to the spot just inside the door. John and Lestrade both had to peer around the consultant detective to see what had been so interesting as to grab his attention. Harriet Thornton was sat with a magazine in hand, one leg folded over the other, in Sherlock's chair.

* * *

**Sorry it took so long folks, life has been ridiculously manic- only one in the department, 54 controlled assessments, broken down car and theatre dress rehearsals- ooodles of fun. Thanks to Gwilwillith, bookworm0307, Aria and Poiuy134 for your wonderful reviews :) **


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

'_**Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable'**__**  
**_**Jane Austen**

"What are _you_ doing here?" Sherlock spoke with distain. Harriet grinned annoyingly. She got up and walked past him and a gobsmacked John and Lestrade into the kitchen. She flicked the kettle on and casually leant against the counter as she waited for it to boil.

"Tea, John? How about you Greg?" Harriet called from the kitchen as she tried to remain cool. It had all seemed like a good idea till now.

"No thanks, I need to get going," Greg answered, "Let me know when you have that book Sherlock." The Detective Inspector was making a poor job of hiding his amusement. Likewise John wasn't making any attempt to cover up his own delight at his friend's expense.

Sherlock flicked his glare between the kitchen where Harriet was just out of his line of sight and John who was grinning like a madman. Harriet returned to the living room with a tray of steaming drinks. "I thought you were too busy," Sherlock's tone of voice was full of accusation.

Harriet fought hard not to smirk, "I thought I'd visit Mrs Hudson. I haven't done that in a while." Sherlock sipped his tea silently, "I can always go back home if it's going to be a problem."

"You can't, Mary would love to see you," John jumped in before his friend could say something harsh to Harriet or send her packing that would make him equally as unhappy.

"Brilliant John!" Sherlock exclaimed with excitement, "I had though my three year absence had caused your brain cells to diminish but clearly I was mistaken. Harriet is just the person we need. She can assist Mary with the wedding planning freeing you up for your blogger duties."

Harriet quietly sipped her coffee as John gave Sherlock an earful about his duties as a fiancé. "I want to be involved with it and besides you're going to need to be involved with it as well." Harriet was fairly certain that had Sherlock been anyone other than Sherlock he would have choked on his mouthful of tea in a most undignified manner but because he was Sherlock Holmes he calmly swallowed his mouthful and set his cup down without showing any indication that he was surprised.

"And why would I want to do that?" Sherlock eyed the ex-army doctor coolly.

John prolonged the inevitable with a sip of his own tea. He grimaced at the heat as it scolded his throat, "You are my best man."

"I'm no such thing," Sherlock answered immediately.

"You don't get a say in it," John answered back. Sherlock grumbled to himself some more as Harriet asked John about the wedding plans he and Mary had made. Harriet had the feeling that they'd had similar wedding conversations before with similar results.

-x-

_**Two Weeks Ago**_

Chuin listened from the passenger seat of the black Mercedes van as they rattled down the A12. He nervously glanced back to where the phials and samples of the pathogen were stored. They were packed in foam inside air tight steel cases but that didn't stop the nagging worry that something could spill or break.

"You have sixteen days Wei. This pathogen needs to be ready for release," Tao snapped from the driver's seat. Chuin couldn't bring himself to ask what Tao meant by release. He knew, he'd known since the start.

Chuin put the conversation out of sight and out of mind. He switched on the radio. Western pop tunes blared through the tinny speakers of the van; it flicked to the news and travel. Chuin listened to the news. There was an article on student debt that had young listeners in an uproar but what really caught his attention was the work of a detective for New Scotland Yard. Interference from an outside source interrupted the start of the news segment leaving Chuin to piece together that this detective was only a consultant. He was a very bright individual that had returned a stolen pearl. Chuin had been unable to catch a name.

_**Present Day**_

John said his goodbyes after making Harriet promise to come over for dinner the following night leaving Sherlock and Harriet alone. "So," Harriet, after making the tea, didn't sit back in Sherlock's chair instead she sat in what used to be John's as she watched the consultant detective. Sherlock was sat in his own chair as if to lay his claim on it once again after Harriet's brief occupying stint.

"So," Sherlock echoed.

"Mrs Hudson will be home again soon. She had to pop out to the bank," Harriet made for polite conversation. After giving herself time to think she was finally with Sherlock yet she couldn't bring herself to open up the conversation they needed to have.

Sherlock had been avoiding eye contact ever since he realised that Harriet was in the upstairs flat of 221 Baker Street. Yet now for the first time he finally graced her with the honour of those startling icy eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I haven't seen much of Mrs Hudson lately," it was a lame excuse.

"I thought you were above trying to lie to me," Sherlock's arctic enunciation instantly filled Harriet with guilt. The insufferable arse, he leaves her thinking he's dead three years and she's the one feeling guilt. Anger was once again bubbling away under the surface like magma reminding her why she wanted time in the first place.

Harriet scowled, "Technically I'm not lying. I've barely seen Mrs Hudson over the last three years."

"What happened to all that work you had to do?" Sherlock already knew the answer to that question.

The woman in question shrugged her shoulders, "I'll do it on the Sunday before I go back. Look," Harriet decided to be straight with him, "I'm still pissed at you for doing what you did it can't just go away because you've clicked your fingers and summoned me to London," she clicked her fingers for emphasis.

"I thought we discussed this," the consultant detective answered.

"I thought so to," Harriet answered back.

"But apparently you are still holding a grudge, a rather childish one. I did what you asked. I gave you space," there was no hint of emotion or recognition as Sherlock spoke.

"I'm childish! You jumped off a bloody roof and faked your death just so you'd win in your silly little game with Moriarty, errrgh," Harriet's voice had gained several octaves as she got to her feet and gathered her things. "I was always going to come and visit," Harriet was hesitant to use anything other than 'visit' but even that didn't fit their situation, "but a part of me wanted to make this really difficult for you as payback which I know is stupid. I don't need you to tell me that."

Sherlock panicked and got to his feet, she was leaving, "Where are you going?" Harriet turned to look at him. Her breath was hitched and pulse elevated as she bolted for the door.

"Downstairs, just…I can't, I thought I could but I can't. Sorry," Sherlock blinked in disbelief as she fled from the scene. He waited until he heard the door to Mrs Hudson's slam shut before he moved from the spot. He put Harriet from his mind making sure that she was locked away out of sight in his mind palace. Sherlock took up the book that he needed for the case and hastily made his way from Baker Street to meet up with Lestrade again.

-x-

_**Three Days Ago**_

Chuin's lab in London was even better equipped than the one he'd been using in Shanghai. The young scientist had all but assembled the pathogen. It was currently incubating for maximum effect upon release or so Chuin told Tao. In reality Chuin was stalling for time. Since his arrival in Britain Chuin kept hearing about a famous consulting detective. When he googled the man he came across a name that startled him, a name he hadn't heard since the project officially began. The consulting detective or rather Sherlock Holmes as Chuin learnt his name to be had been the one to put a stop Moriarty. It certainly explained why the funding and ownership of the biological weapon had changed hands.

The lab was silent except for the gentle hum of equipment. Chuin sighed to himself. He wanted to be anywhere but the lab. It was windowless and full of artificial white light. The air con kept the air dry, so dry that it irritated Chuin's asthma. He was desperate to leave the lab and even more desperate to whistle blow on the whole project but in doing so he would incriminate himself yet the more he heard of this Sherlock Holmes the more he thought he could help and maybe just maybe Chuin could go back home to the ones he loved without their being any payback.

-x-

_**Present Day**_

"Mrs Hudson you are a life saver," Harriet took the glass offered by the landlady come housekeeper of Baker Street.

The elderly lady smiled, "It's a double."

Mrs Hudson had returned from the bank and seen Harriet sitting alone in her floral living room and knew immediately that the man who was more like a son had been a royal pain in the arse. Harriet sipped on the gin and tonic that was more gin than tonic and filled Mrs Hudson in on what happened. "I was at fault as well."

"We were all angry at him dear, but he did it so that we wouldn't have to die," Mrs Hudson patted Harriet on the knee showing that she understood.

"I know," Harriet sighed heavily, "I'll apologise tomorrow. I should have told him that I was visiting then maybe he wouldn't have been such an insufferable arse to begin with."

"He's not been the same since he returned. John was good for him," Mrs Hudson mused.

"Is good, John is still good for him it's just different now," Harriet replied.

Mrs Hudson polished off the rest of her gin and tonic with one large mouthful, "Sherlock was never good on his own. Before John he would turn to drugs. Oh, the number of times I found him unconscious and Mycroft would always swoop in and fix everything. Since you and John Sherlock's life has been better." This only made Harriet feel guiltier of her earlier tirade.

"Hmmm," Harriet contemplated Mrs Hudson's words for some time. She finished her drink and stared at the television not really knowing what was going on in the crime drama.

Mrs Hudson observed her young relative that looked to have the weight of the world upon her shoulders, "What else is bothering you dear?"

"Huh? Oh errrr nothing," Harriet was surprised at the elderly woman's observation but then again she shared a house with the world's only consultant detective where such skills can rub off on a person.

Mrs Hudson took the empty glass from Harriet, "Shall we have another one and you can tell me. I'm worldlier than I look."

It was confession time for Harriet. If she was really honest with herself Sherlock returning from the dead was really not that big of an issue. Of course the insufferable arse was forgiven. What was really bothering the young teacher was much more of a. "I'm twenty-eight years old, I'll be twenty nine in a few months," Harriet stumbled around her thoughts, thoughts that she'd never once spoken aloud not even to her mother.

"Yes, it's marked on the calendar," Mrs Hudson smiled reassuringly. Harriet appreciated her effort at keeping the conversation light.

"When Sherlock did what he did it hurt, we all felt it but I thought that it was the end of everything. It's why I'm in Cornwall it was supposed to be a fresh start. I was supposed to meet a nice gentleman, get married, have two-point-whatever children and never think of Sherlock again. Then he had to show up on my doorstep, alive," Harriet sipped her second gin tasting even more gin than the first one. Mrs Hudson really needed to learn how much a single measure was. Harriet put it down to her failing eyesight and temporary misplacement of reading glasses.

"Has Sherlock being alive changed all that?" the landlady asked.

Harriet quaffed half her drink, "You know what he's like, of course it has. I'm never going to have any of that if we carry on what he had but at the same time I can't walk away from him because he's…"

"He's Sherlock," Mrs Hudson finished.

"It took a swan dive off from a roof for him to tell me he loves me, none of this, the kids or marriage even enters the equation," Harriet's pessimism was winning over.

"You don't know that for sure," Harriet gave Mrs Hudson a look that said she did.

-x-

Harriet didn't sleep well as she tossed and turned on the air mattress in Mrs Hudson's living room. Part of it had a leak anyway. In the end Harriet gave up and curled up on the small two seated sofa. She heard Sherlock return around midnight and desperately wanted to go upstairs and apologise for her behaviour but thought better of it. The man had been running around London solving a case the last thing he needed was to have sentiment forced upon him.

The following morning and Harriet was tired grumpy and, although she would deny it, slightly hung-over. She went out for breakfast so as not to inflict her foul mood onto Mrs Hudson. After a coffee, croissant and a brief window shop where she spotted a stunning pair of heeled black court shoes that would certainly impact on her bank balance she returned back to Baker Street. After dropping her things in Mrs Hudson's she braved the stairs up to 221B.

Harriet knocked cautiously. There was no answer. Harriet listened. She heard the tiniest chink of glasses signalling that the insufferable arse was home so she knocked again as she opened the door. Harriet didn't call out a greeting instead she shut the door slowly and rounded the corner into the small kitchen where Sherlock was perched at his microscope with a test tube bubbling away above a Bunsen burner. The smell caused Harriet to grimace. "I'm sorry," she tried not to breath too much as she spoke. Sherlock looked sideways. He flicked his eyes up and down her profile for a moment then abruptly got to his feet switched off the Bunsen burner and stalked into the living room to open a window.

"Mrs Hudson's _special_ drinks measures, there are bags under your eyes," Harriet blushed having been caught out by his deduction.

"I wanted to apologise," Harriet wasn't going to waste her breath.

"Yes, you've done that already," Sherlock answered. Like any emotional conversation with Sherlock this one was going to be short, "apology accepted."

Harriet smiled, "You aren't just saying that." Sherlock's look implied that she had just insulted his intelligence, "Right, sorry, of course you're not."

Sherlock went and sat back at his experiment leaving Harriet to hover awkwardly, "John invited me over for dinner. Are you coming?"

* * *

**Thanks for taking the time to read!**

**Gwilwillith- thank you :)**

**owlsrawsome- glad you like it!**

**Guest- hope you're still enjoying it.**

**Aria- I can't wait to see how it will continue either (still trying to decide some details)**

**Laurie Winchester-Holmes- Thank you for your lovely review :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

'_**Everything that we see is a shadow cast by that which we do not see'**_

**Martin Luther King, Jr.**

"Oh Sherlock, in you come," Mrs Hudson called from her kitchen having heard the front door open, "Harriet is still getting ready." The landlady dried her hands and turned to give Sherlock a once over, "You could have made an effort."

"It's only John," Sherlock answered.

Mrs Hudson hit him with the tea towel, "Not for John, for Harriet." She hung up the tea towel and went with Sherlock into the living room to wait for Harriet.

"It hardly matters," Sherlock didn't bother to say that he had chosen a purple shirt similar to the one he had before his fall purely for the effect it had on Harriet.

Mrs Hudson sighed, "Really Sherlock. A girl likes to see her man make an effort; I suppose you think you'll get married in that suit?"

Sherlock felt like a dear caught in headlights but managed to keep his feelings to himself, "I'm married to my work Mrs Hudson."

"So you keep saying," she answered under her breath. Mrs Hudson had known Sherlock long enough to know when to stop. For now she would drop the matter but not forget it.

Harriet chose this moment to make her entrance. "Ready?" She was wearing something simple yet elegant. She wore a black pencil skirt with gold zip detail, cream shirt with an embossed lace collar and small gold buttons but what stood out most as Sherlock's eyes travelled down Harriet's legs enclosed in black tights were the plum coloured swede heels.

"You look nice," Sherlock's voice was heavy as he answered her; he cleared his throat and hastily changed his answer glad that the hall was too dark for Harriet to see the colouring of his cheeks, "We should go." Harriet hadn't heard him the first time anyway as she checked herself in the mirror in the hall once more.

-x-

Harriet had been slightly nervous at seeing Mary again. It had been a long time since she'd actually seen her old friend. Her nerves soon disappeared as Mary opened the door to the flat and flung her arms around Harriet in a warm hug. "I missed you," Harriet mirrored her sentiments and when she was released greeted John. Sherlock was given a peck on the cheek by Mary as he handed her a bottle of wine that Harriet insisted was correct protocol to bring. Mary had deliberately given Sherlock a friendly kiss knowing it would irritate him. Harriet smiled as she watched him shove his hands deep into his suit pockets as a way of closing himself off. "Wine Harriet?" Mary called from the kitchen. Harriet disappeared into the kitchen to help Mary and collect her glass of wine.

Sherlock and John were left alone in the living room. John had been tasked with the job of setting the table. Sherlock stood by and watched him not once offering to help. "So everything is good then, with Harriet?" John had been itching to ask. He wanted his friend to be happy especially since he himself was no longer residing at Baker Street.

"Yes," Sherlock replied curtly. John suspected that wasn't a total truth but didn't press the matter; there were only so many miracles you could expect from the consultant detective in an evening.

-x-

Dinner, for the most part, was hassle free. Mary had outdone herself in the kitchen in John's opinion. There was a parsnip and smoked pancetta soup to start, roast lamb for a main and blackberry and apple crumble for desert. Cheese and biscuits had been bought out as the four sat around talking. John was regaling them with a tale of a recent case and Sherlock, much to everyone's surprise, had been a more than willing participant in assisting with the story telling even if it was only to correct John.

Harriet and Mary ended up clearing away the dishes in the kitchen seeing as there was only so much domesticity you could force upon the consultant detective. "What have you done to him?" Mary had gotten to know Sherlock pretty well through John since the consultant detective's return but never had he been so sociable and dare she say it amenable.

"Nothing that I know of," Harriet had seen this side of the consultant detective before but was still pleasantly surprised.

Mary shook her head in disbelief, "Well, whatever it is keep doing it."

"If I knew I would. We had a slight disagreement last night," Harriet confessed, "he was an arse and I was…" she broke off as she thought of what to say.

"Difficult? Stubborn? Trying to prove a point?" Mary supplied.

Harriet laughed more at herself than what Mary was saying, "Take your pick. I was stupid."

"I'm sure Sherlock made it easy for you," Mary replied sarcastically as she put the last of the plates in the cupboard.

"We were both to blame, anyways, are we going to play this quiz game or not?" Harriet hung her tea towel to dry keen to move on from the conversation about Sherlock. After her discussion with Mrs Hudson the other night she had come to the conclusion that she was being a bit silly. She still had two years till she was thirty why was she so worried but more importantly

-x-

John set up the pieces on the board for the game, "two teams?"

"Sherlock and I will be a team," Harriet hastily volunteered.

John cottoned on to Harriet's game plan immediately, "I wouldn't be so sure that you'll win, he didn't know the Earth went round the sun."

"Yes, thank you John," Sherlock looked a little disgruntled.

"Maybe it should be girls versus boys then?" Harriet backtracked.

Mary laughed, "Just because you like to win."

The four played a competitive game that culminated in John and Mary winning. "I thought you were supposed to be smart," Harriet elbowed a sulking Sherlock.

"I don't waste my time with pub trivia," he answered.

John was more than enjoying his win, "Maybe you should start joining us down the pub at the end of a case." The ex-army Doctors suggestion fell on deaf ears.

With the game finished Sherlock and Harriet said their thank yous and goodbyes and headed for home. John and Mary looked at the clearing up they had to do and came to the quick decision that it could wait till the morning. As Mary got ready for bed John made some attempt at cleaning by collecting the empty wine bottles together, most of it having been drunk by the two women as they animatedly caught up with each other.

-x-

Harriet had one too many to drink and was a little bit jolly. It rid of her of any hesitancy as she walked side by side with Sherlock. She walked closer to Sherlock and took his hand in her own. There was a slight falter in his step at the gentle touch. Sherlock looked down at the joined hands with a funny feeling that he'd not felt for just over three years. "You've had too much wine," he chose to comment. It was always better to stick to the facts.

"You're probably right," Harriet answered with a cheery grin.

Having walked to the end of the street Sherlock was able to hail a passing taxi with his usual ease. He was a proper gentleman as he held the door open for Harriet. She clambered into the taxi nearly losing a heel in the process causing Sherlock to roll his eyes as he directed the driver. The woman could be infuriating at times. Harriet was silent as they returned to Baker Street. It had been a wonderful night which only played on Harriet's thoughts from the day before. She really was being silly thinking of the future that was still years away.

Sherlock watched her from the corner of his eye. She looked distracted and was unaware that she was chewing her bottom lip. "Can you stop here," Sherlock requested of the driver as they were within five minutes walking distance of Baker Street. He was loath to let his evening with Harriet come to an end. A dinner party hadn't been Sherlock's idea of a fun but he'd gone along with it all for Harriet's benefit and because it was John. Had it been put on by anybody else the consultant detective would have refused to go.

"Sherlock, I'm wearing heels do we really have to walk the rest of the way," Harriet protested loudly as she was all but pulled from the back of the taxi.

"You should wear more suitable shoes," the consultant detective answered. Harriet grumbled to herself as she ungraciously yanked down her pencil skirt that had ridden up as she stepped from the taxi. Sherlock watched her with a raised eyebrow. Harriet was normally quite ladylike but after a fair helping of wine that had gone out the window. The consultant detective linked his arm with Harriet's more out of his own selfish desire to be near her than for her own safety in those heels. They walked in companionable silence for a short while.

Apart from apologising neither Sherlock nor Harriet had touched upon what was said the other night. All evening Sherlock and Harriet had been performing something of a dance to just carry on as normal. "I've enjoyed tonight," Harriet ventured.

"It was tolerable," the consultant detective answered.

Harriet nudged him playfully as they walked, "You enjoyed it too. I can tell." There was a moment of silence between the two, "You miss having John around all the time, don't you?"

"I have my skull," Sherlock's reply was what Harriet expected, it was completely devoid of any emotion but he went on to surprise her, "But it's not the same."

"Do you want things to still be the same as before?" Harriet lifted her head to look at Sherlock instead of the footpath.

Sherlock was concentrating on something in the distance; Harriet could see his mind ticking away as he processed an answer, "Having John around wasn't dull although his choice in television leaves a lot to be desired." Harriet had also suffered John's crap choice in telly and sympathised with Sherlock. He hadn't really answered her question but it was enough of an answer.

"And us?" Harriet ventured.

"What about us?" Sherlock countered.

"Do you want us to be the same as before?" Harriet hoped to get some answers to some of her apprehensions concerning a relationship with Sherlock.

"Do you?" Sherlock once again answered with a question.

"I do," Harriet was thinking of the moment on the roof before she was rendered unconscious when Sherlock confessed to loving her. Harriet thought to herself that she would like to hear him say that again, "But not completely the same. The circumstances are different this time. Change keeps things interesting." Sherlock could agree with her on that.

Harriet and Sherlock rounded the corner onto Baker Street. Sherlock looked ahead. Just outside 221 was a figure clad in black, the outline of a hood clearly visible. Instinctively Sherlock tightened his grip on Harriet. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"We have a visitor," as they approached the visitor pulled down his hood.

Sherlock stepped closer and freed himself of Harriet. "Mr Sherlock Holmes," the man spoke in broken English. The streetlight illuminated his face revealing alongside his accent that he was of Asian origin.

"And you are?" Sherlock inquired.

"Chuin Wei, I need your help."

Sherlock scrutinised the man for a moment, unlocked the door and walked inside. Chuin remained outside confused wondering whether he was going to get the help he needed. "You best follow him," Harriet spoke up seeing his distress. She wasn't surprised by Sherlock's behaviour. Chuin followed looking uncomfortable about the whole situation.

Harriet went inside and closed the front door with a disappointed sigh; what had been a lovely evening was over. She kicked off her heels by the front door and picked them up before heading for Mrs Hudson's for some much needed sleep. "Miss Thornton!" Sherlock's baritone thundered down the stairs. Harriet opened her mouth to shout something colourful up the stairs but decided better of it when he had a visitor. "Miss Thornton!" he shouted again. Harriet berated herself for not ignoring his demands and went upstairs. "Two teas," Sherlock requested as soon as Harriet's feet touched the top step. He caught the look on her face and added a 'please'.

Once Harriet had made tea, which took longer than normal after she spilt scolding water as she poured it from the kettle into mugs, she took them through on a tray with water for herself and sat down in John's chair. "Take notes," Sherlock barked an instruction, "John will need them." A pad of paper and a pen had been left on the arm of the chair. It really wasn't the time for Harriet to tell him to do it himself.

-x-

Sherlock knew that John would ignore a text so he phoned instead. It rung once and went to voicemail. Annoyed Sherlock tried again, "What?" a slightly breathless John answered.

"A case," Sherlock informed his friend as he paced. He couldn't see that John had closed his eyes out of exasperation as he fell back onto his bed.

"Can you not tackle this one on your own or maybe Harriet could fill in for the skull," John replied.

Sherlock looked at Harriet where she had fallen ungracefully onto the sofa after Chuin had left, "She's inebriated." Harriet was only slightly tipsy and had sobered up quickly since returning home leaving her with enough sense to yell 'Oi' at Sherlock. John sighed into the phone, "The sex will have to wait John." Harriet snorted in amusement imagining the redness of John's face at being caught in the act by his best friend. "You have twenty minutes."

* * *

**Thanks to Gwilwillith and Aria for reviewing :) **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_'__**A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials'**__**  
**_**Seneca**

"So let me get this straight, you interrupted my evening because a deadly pathogen is due for release?" John checked with Sherlock. He'd not long since met up with the enigmatic consulting detective and they were now heading for a meeting with Chuin to obtain a sample of the pathogen.

"Problem?" Sherlock turned to him with an eyebrow raised in challenge.

John chuckled despite being very much annoyed at the interruption, "No, it's all good."

"Good," Sherlock led the way down the street; John almost had to jog to keep up. "Harriet made these." From the depth of his coat pocket Sherlock fished out a small notebook that Harriet had scrawled in whilst Sherlock spared their guest two minutes of his time to hear him out.

"Harriet's handwriting is terrible," John commented as he squinted in the dark trying to decipher her loopy writing.

"Yours is worse," Sherlock remarked, "Harriet's has more to do with the drink."

"Mary will be hung-over in the morning," John replied. Sherlock hummed in response not really caring.

-x-

**An Hour Earlier**

Harriet hastily scribbled notes for John as Sherlock interrogated the man. The consultant detective paced back and forth as he instructed the man not to be boring. Chuin, as he introduced himself, looked taken aback for a second before explaining what Harriet couldn't quite believe.

"You must understand. My family. My girlfriend," Chuin stumbled over his English.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock waved him off having heard it all before. Harriet had sympathy for the man but jotted down **threatened family** instead of commenting.

"A mutated form of Orthomyxovirus will be released into London," Chuin continued.

Harriet was still trying to spell Orthomyxowhatsit when Sherlock spun around in wild excitement and clapped his hands together, "The pathogen behind influenza, brilliant!" Harriet crossed out her dodgy spelling and wrote what Sherlock said instead.

"I tested on antibiotics, the virus cannot be treated," Chuin buried his head in his hands.

"Who? Who is behind this? It can't be you," Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back curtailing his excitement for the time being.

"I have dealings with Tao Meng, it is mafia in Shanghai," as a teacher Harriet was itching to correct his use of English but didn't, there was a time and a place after all.

Sherlock lifted his hands up to this rest together against his chin, "Chinese mafia," Sherlock had dealings with the Chinese before with the Black Lotus but this was different entirely. He was deep thought as he contemplated what they'd learnt so far. When Chuin began his explanation he made it very clear that he did not know the intended target for release of the pathogen yet Sherlock already had a list of potential ground zeros in his mind palace. What also quite a spanner in the works was the location of the pathogen. Chuin was aware of the location of thirty five percent of the pathogen stores. The other sixty five was stored elsewhere that, the location of which he was not partial to.

"I have listened, Mr Holmes, they have adopted it," this snatched Sherlock's full attention again.

Sherlock repeated his earlier questioned, "Who?"

"Whisperings of a name but it disappeared," Sherlock felt as if he was hit by a train as Chuin spoke. "Moriarty."

"No," Sherlock stumbled back slightly almost as he forget he was stood up, "Not possible."

It took Harriet a few seconds to catch up as her pen scratched away paper. Once she'd written everything she looked down and saw Moriarty's name. Panic began to swell. "Sherlock?"

"He's gone," Sherlock closed himself off as he disappeared into his mind palace. The consultant criminal and his web of criminals were gone. Sherlock had made sure of that himself. Three long years chasing down every connection and he'd missed one. There was always something.

"The name was said once. The funding from him," Chuin didn't know who Moriarty was put could pick up enough from the consultant detective and his assistant to know that it was a name that bought bad things, "The money disappeared, it was mafia who stepped in."

Sherlock took in what was said, "When did the project start?"

"I work on it for one year. It starts four years ago," Chuin replied.

Sherlock had one more question, "When did the mafia step in?"

"Three years ago," the biochemist answered.

Sherlock, in two long strides, was by the door to 221B holding it open, "I'll look into it. Do you have a sample of the pathogen?"

"No," Chuin was somewhat bewildered by Sherlock's eccentricities. Feeling confused Chuin got to his feet and put his jacket back on remembering to pull up his hood should he be being watched.

"I will need one and as much time as you can get me," with that Sherlock followed him down the stairs to see him out leaving Harriet to finish the notes.

When Sherlock returned upstairs Harriet was in the kitchen pouring a large glass of water. It had been a really long night. "Notebook is on the table!" she called from the kitchen in what she hoped sounded normal.

Sherlock appeared in the kitchen doorway with the aforementioned notebook in hand. He wasted no time in flicking his eyes over Harriet deducing everything, "You are worried about Moriarty. Don't be, you saw his body."

"You came back from the dead," she answered instantly, "why can't he?"

"He's dead, Mycroft arranged for his body to be retrieved from the roof," Harriet still wasn't convinced. Sherlock stepped towards her and took the glass from her hands setting it down on the worktop behind her taking both her hands in his linking his musician's fingers with hers by their sides, "It is Moriarty's body that sit six feet beneath my tomb stone."

It took a moment for Harriet to process this information, "But the three years you were gone, how can you be sure that you got everyone?" Knowing that there could be more people like Moriarty out there sent shivers down Harriet's spine. It was one of the things still niggling on in the back of her mind stopping her from jumping back into whatever non-conventional relationship she had with Sherlock before his fall.

Sherlock stared through Harriet with sharp eyes, "I would not have returned putting you, John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade in danger again."

"You sound so sure but this pathogen god, Sherlock, what if it gets released then what?" panic began to swell within Harriet. "I'm not going to another one of your funerals," Harriet's voice began to give out as she fought against a sob.

"It won't! I won't let it!" Sherlock raised his voice venting the frustration of the case and Harriet's sentimental emotions.

"Hey," Harriet let go of one of Sherlock's hands and rested a hand on Sherlock's cheek. It was the first real intimate contact the pair had shared since Sherlock's return. "I believe you. Just stop this and then," Harriet smiled, "we can continue our conversation from earlier."

-x-

_**Present Day**_

Sherlock's phone vibrated in his coat pocket, he pulled it out and read the text.

**Diogenes, 4am –MH**

"Early breakfast with Mycroft," Sherlock tucked his phone away. It was now nearly one in the morning which gave them three hours.

"Lovely, just what we need," John's sarcastic reply produced a smirk from Sherlock.

Sherlock and John arrived at the meeting point. There was no sign of Chuin. They were on a street, Island Row, just to the west of Canary Wharf. The street was dark and quiet as they stood under a damp grotty arch beneath the bridge that allowed the Docklands Light Railway to cross over. John pulled his jacket tighter to keep warm, "He needs to hurry up," John complained, he was very close to having chattering teeth. Sherlock shushed him.

John blew into his hands and rubbed them together to keep them warm; for a night in late May it was bloody freezing. "He's here," John squinted to make out more of the figure in the dark. He couldn't make out his face with the hood up.

"Mr Holmes, I have the sample," the Chinese man spoke. John, under the light of a street light, caught just enough of the man's face to see the fear he'd seen time and time again in Afghanistan as his eyes darted left and right. He was a dead man walking should someone find out what he was handing over.

"Thank you," Sherlock remained stoic as Chuin dropped his rucksack onto the floor pulling out a small metal case. He unlatched the fastenings with the case sitting on the floor revealing a canister of cooled pathogen before swiftly closing the case again.

-x-

With the pathogen sample in their procession Sherlock and John were making for St. Bart's. "I need your phone, John," Sherlock held his hand out expectantly as they sat in the back of a taxi, his other hand with gripped firmly onto the metal box resting on his lap.

"What's wrong with yours?" the ex-army doctor challenged.

Sherlock moved his outstretched hand closer, "Battery." John didn't think for one second that the battery was dead but still handed his phone over. The consultant detective scrolled through his friend's phone till he found the contact he was looking for. Since his return he'd had no way of contacting one of the few people he'd always trusted. He put the phone to his ear and waited for an answer, "Hello," the sleepy voice of Molly Hopper greeted after far too many in rings in Sherlock's opinion.

"Molly, its Sherlock sorry it's early," John highly doubted that Sherlock was really sorry.

"Sherlock?" he heard the rustle as she pulled the phone from her ear to check the caller id, "I-I heard that you were back, I'm glad but can this not wait."

Sherlock took in a sharp breath, "I'm afraid it can't. Mycroft can arrange for your old job back. I need your help in identifying and neutralising an influenza pathogen."

"I don't work for Bart's anymore. I haven't for a long time," Molly replied.

Sherlock continued on, "An instant return will be arranged."

Molly sighed, "N-no Sherlock, I'm not coming back."

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded.

Molly sighed before answering, "I-I have a family now, with Lee, you know the one who phoned John about Mrs Hudson. I'm glad your back Sherlock, really I am but things are different this time round."

"You won't assist me?" Of course the word help was outside of Sherlock's vocabulary on this occasion.

"Sorry," Molly apologised as Sherlock hung up.

John felt anger prickle, "Did you just hang up on Molly after everything she's done for you!"

"I won't work with those idiots in the lab, John. Molly is the only one I'll work with," Sherlock leaned forward to address the cabby, "Change of plan, Baker Street please."

-x-

Harriet was zonked out in Sherlock's bed after what had been a pleasant evening with the consultant detective. Knowing that on a case he didn't sleep she'd commandeered his bed which was far more comfortable than the inflatable airbed on Mrs Hudson's floor. Her slumber was interrupted to the sound of clattering and loud voices just outside the door. One of them was Sherlock's the other John's. Annoyed at the interruption, but realising if she wanted a decent night's sleep then the air bed would probably have been her better option, Harriet threw back the covers.

"Have you completely lost it!" it was John's voice doing most of the shouting.

"No," Sherlock replied monotonously.

Harriet pulled on one of Sherlock's dressing gowns over the pyjamas she fetched from downstairs. Both John and Sherlock turned to look at her. John looked between Sherlock and Harriet and wondered what had actually happened when they got home for Harriet to be in Sherlock's room. Sherlock, on the other hand, looked at the dressing gown with slight annoyance that she was wearing his favourite. "What's going on?" Harriet asked sleepily.

"Sherlock thinks it's okay to open up a pathogen in the kitchen," John wasted no time in getting Harriet on his side.

"Well Sherlock should know better," Harriet grumbled.

The Bunsen Burner was already flickering away on the kitchen table and Sherlock was readying a solution in a beaker, "If you two would stop jumping to ludicrous conclusions you would know by now that I intend to use the metal case to find out where Chuin was storing the chemical. Mycroft's people will have the pathogen identified and seize the remainder." In order to investigate the pathogen properly he would need a contained unit not just a fume cupboard something that he didn't have access to but with Mycroft's help it could be dealt with.

As Harriet made a round of coffee she watched Sherlock busy himself with his equipment. It was fascinating to the point that she almost forgot about the kettle that had long since boiled. Sherlock looked up at Harriet as he dropped acid onto the dirt he'd scraped from the hinge of the case. He paused for the moment and smiled. Having Harriet watch him was akin to hearing John telling him 'that was brilliant.' Harriet smiled back loving that he was in his element. A persistent curl kept falling onto his face and his safety spectacles slipped down his nose. Who was she kidding thinking that she could ever walk away from him? How could she have thought that being without Sherlock was the right thing to do? With a shake of her head she returned to making coffee. Her decision had been made but now wasn't the time to talk to Sherlock about it. She left Sherlock's drink by his microscope where it would probably sit untouched and took John's through to the living room. John was slumped in his arm chair with his head resting on his hand snoring slightly. Harriet set his cup down on the table next to him and returned to the kitchen to watch Sherlock work.

The consultant detective continually muttered to himself and jotted things down into his notebook. Harriet perched on a stool on the other side of the table and watched his every move. She kept her distance worried that she might be a distraction hoping that if she was then Sherlock would voice his opinion. After all that was something he excelled that.

Harriet stayed until she finished her drink and went back to Sherlock's room to read her book. Sleep was out of the question with all the noise Sherlock was making. She left the bedroom door open listening to the sounds of the lively flat and the smell of potent chemicals.

"Miss Thornton?" Sherlock appeared in the doorway with his safety glass pushed up on his head. His suit jacket was discarded and the sleeves of grey shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

Harriet looked up sharply, "yeah?"

"John is sleeping and I need an assistant," Sherlock deliberated for a moment before adding, "please."

"I'm not sure how much I will be, wouldn't you rather have John?" Harriet replied.

"You have adequate intelligence for this," he turned on his heel and left.

Harriet got up and joined him in the kitchen. She hadn't taken offence at his comment but instead felt honoured that he was making an effort to involve her. In a move that surprised Sherlock she stood taller and pecked a kiss on his cheek, "You insufferable arse," it was meant as a term of endearment. Sherlock's cheeks tinged pink in the bright light of the kitchen as he battled to regain his composure Harriet was having her own mini lapse in sense. He tried to maintain cool, calm and collected but inside she could feel a fire igniting.

Sherlock barked out a load of instructions. Harriet was glad that it was a fairly simple task. Sherlock had even cleared a small space for her on the other side of the small kitchen table. Harriet set up Sherlock's laptop and set to work building a list of potential locations for the storage of the pathogen using geology, vegetation and small particulates from dust. She would spend a good ten minutes trying to find a location to fit when Sherlock was give her another location as it occurred to him. John woke up and was soon helping out with his own knowledge of the pathogen and the impact it would have.

-x-

Calling their meeting with Mycroft breakfast was hardly fitting. Mycroft had a cup of coffee, John a tea and Sherlock turned down anything his brother offered just to be difficult. There wasn't actually any food involved in the breakfast which was a shame for John whose stomach had been rumbling for the best part of an hour.

Mycroft didn't keep John and Sherlock waiting long but it was long enough for Sherlock to sit in what John had come to call Mycroft's chair, "Ah brother dear," he greeted upon Mycroft's entrance. It took very little time for Sherlock to tell his brother everything he knew so far and when Mycroft made to suggest that the government would now be handling it Sherlock had his answer ready and answered with determination, "The last time you tried to keep me from investigating it didn't turn out well. I will find a way Mycroft."

"Yes," Mycroft humoured him, "That's your problem you've never been able to leave well enough alone. Tell me Sherlock, how is your _girlfriend_?"

"None of your concern unlike your weight by the-"

"Really!" John butted in on the conversation, "the two of you are going to do this now? There's a pathogen sitting on the table that can kill hundreds if not thousands and your making petty jibes in attempt to get under the others skin." Both Holmes brothers looked at the silver case as John spoke.

Mycroft collected the case, "Right you are, John. It will be dealt with. Am I to assume that you are working on the location of the sixty five percent that cannot be located?" Mycroft didn't wait for a reply, "You will notify me as soon as. There will be a team ready at your disposal. I will not move to take control of the thirty percent until you do. The last thing I need is the terrorists to panic and release the sixty five percent not with North Korea being a nuisance."

* * *

**This chapter has given me so much grief, I'm sick of looking at it. Big thank you to those who've reviewed, favourited, alerted and whatnot :)**


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